


New Dawn Fades

by ryl00



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Guilt, Hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryl00/pseuds/ryl00
Summary: KOTOR LSM Revan. After the Star Forge, Bastila must face the consequences of her fall. [Originally posted to FFN in 2009]





	1. Prelude

He saw the opening and instinctively struck, his lightsaber moving in fast.

He felt the blade cut through fabric and flesh with a scorching scream.

Reflexively, he brought the lightsaber around for the finish.  Almost simultaneously, he heard her gasp in pain, and felt a blinding flash of agony via their bond.

Blade still at the ready, he backed off warily.

Trembling, Bastila stumbled to her knees, her right arm dangling limply at her side, the lifeless hilt of her double-bladed lightsaber falling beneath her.  With her left hand, she clutched at the torn fabric and bloody wound on her upper right arm.  Threads of hair hid her down-turned face from Enosh’s view.

The echoes of the steps of their deadly dance faded away, leaving only the low throbbing of the generator, the soft whine of Enosh’s lightsaber, and Bastila’s ragged gasps.

Enosh’s heartbeat slowed along with his breath, as he stared at the curtain of dark brown hair bowed before him.  Streaks of blood and sweat, tangles and cuts, marred its well-remembered sheen.

Her left hand over her wound was bloody now, and the fabric black with blood.  He could feel her tensing herself, and then she slowly, unsteadily got to her feet… and fell again to her knees with a last cry of pain.

His heart twisted to see her in such pain, but he did nothing but stand silently, watching her.

A few more ragged breaths, and he could sense her trying to fight down the pain.

Slowly, the hair parted like the receding tide, and Bastila’s wan, blood-streaked face emerged from the depths.  The lips he had once so tenderly brushed with his own were flecked with blood and pressed tightly together in a pained grimace; the gray eyes he had so often been hypnotized by defiant but distant.  Blood dripped slowly from a cut on her forehead above her left eye, tracing the line of her jaw down.

“It seems…” she said softly, tightly, trying to control herself, always in control, “it seems… I have failed yet again.”

His voice dry, Enosh said, “It is not too late to turn back to the Light, Bastila.  It is still strong within you.  It has guided my way through the darkness of my past, and it will guide you as well, if you just have the courage to follow it.”

“But I no longer can see it, Revan.  All I see is death and destruction.”  She closed her eyes.  “It is too late for me now,” she whispered.  “I have seen too much, done too much… I have too much… _hate_ … within me now, to return to what I once was.

“I see now the mistakes of the past.  All too clearly, all too late.  In pursuit of false rewards to feed my hollow soul, I have thrown away all I once was, all I once had, all I once… cherished… and fallen so far away…” She opened her eyes, and they were distant, staring past him.  “Please,” she whispered, her voice intense, piercing in the silence, “please torture me no more, and put an end to this misery.”

He felt such agony, such twisted agony, from their bond that he nearly cried aloud.  But he had to get through to her, to the light he still saw inside.  “It doesn’t have to end this way, Bastila.  You can still use your Battle Meditation to aid, instead of hinder, the Republic.  You can fight by my side against Darth Malak.”

She closed her eyes.  “If only it were so easy, to change the past.  But the taste of power is too much in my mind to forget.  The stain of betrayal is too much in my soul to erase.  Can you not see it, through our bond?  I’m… confused… I’m losing control… there is little time left… please!”  Her eyes opened, glared at him in raw appeal.  “Before the Star Forge regenerates me yet again!  Before I take arms yet again!”

The generator behind her was glowing now, glowing brighter with each passing moment.

“You can control it, Bastila!” he urged.  “You can reject it!”

“How can you reject what you are?” she whispered sadly.  She visibly paled.  “It nears.  It pulses.  I hear the Star Forge calling out to my… my _blackened_ soul… and I fear I cannot resist its allure much longer…” She trembled, blinked.  “Please, Revan!” she cried.  “While I still remember what I once was!  For the sake of whatever we once had… whatever that you will remember kindly of me… you must!  Strike me down now, while I still remember the Light, before the darkness finally consumes me!”

And with no further word, she dropped her gaze downward, and the curtains of her hair returned to shadow her face once again from his view.  Blood dripped slowly, softly to the floor.

The light was intense now, and he could hear the hum of the generator increase in pitch.  And distant as thunder on the horizon, the sounds of battle came through.  Valiant men and women were fighting out there, in a hopeless battle against Bastila’s Battle Meditation, throwing their lives away as he stood here transfixed.

Reluctantly, his arms heavy, he raised the lightsaber.

Images flashed through his mind.  She stood by a window deep beneath the oceans of Manaan, her gray eyes staring into the eternity of the limitless sea outside, her reflection in the glass staring back.  Flickering embers of a campfire beneath the silent shoulders of the trees of Kashyyyk, lighting her face within a dance of colors.

A sudden nova of light shone from a viewscreen, as one of the Republic capital ships blossomed in a deadly explosion.  Thousands, gone in a heartbeat.

Leaves falling from a tree, twisting gently as they drifted down in the hazy light of a cool dusk, as they danced around each other, lightsabers humming, sparring across a courtyard of the Jedi Enclave.  Standing alone in the sand dunes of Tatooine, staring at the image of her father, her eyes shining in the reddening glow of the sinking suns, while he and the others waited, pretending not to see the façade crack.

Dantooine in ruins.  Sith soldiers overrunning the Enclave.  The fires of homesteads, burning on the plains, the fingers of smoke drifting up into the once-clear skies, blotting out the sun.

The soft hum of the air scrubbers aboard the _Ebon Hawk_ , as they shared a furtive, tender, ever-so-brief moment alone.  She was soft within his encircling arms, the gray eyes that looked up into his own were tranquil pools of water that he could have stared into forever.

Sith battlecruisers pounding Taris into slag.  Billions dead.

A last glance at her determined visage, a well-worn picture in the rooms of his mind, her eyes staring defiantly at Darth Malak towering above her, the yellow blades of her lightsaber the only light against the dark shadows gathering around her, before the blast doors slammed shut.

Thousands of gleaming ships emerging from the Star Forge, silent and deadly, streaming towards the distant reaches of the galaxy, the hundreds of quiet worlds, the quadrillions of unsuspecting souls.

It was blood no more, but tears, now, which fell, sparkling drops of starlight in the blinding glow of the generator.

And the lightsaber fell, arcing through the air, slicing through the stars.


	2. Second chance – The Star Forge – Casualties

The blade slammed into the floor, sparks flying as it scored deeply into the metal.

The glow from the generator was all encompassing, washing out the demarcations of the room—the boundaries, the surfaces, the spaces—until nothing was left but the intense, piercing light.

And then it retreated, back into the tall generator, into the heart of the Star Forge itself.  There was nothing left for it here.  Not anymore.

The blade retreated as well, back into its hilt.  All was now quiet once again, save for the hum of machinery, the distant, fitful thunder of battle outside.

He reached down, touched the smooth curve of her white cheek, brushed aside a tear that had run across the skin.

Eyes that had been shut now blinked open, dazed.

“What… what have you done?” she whispered hoarsely.

A small smile touched his lips.  “I appear to have missed.”

Those glorious eyes stared at him, as if he were the only thing left in the universe.

“But… I… the generator…”

“Is sadly lacking in suitable recipients right now.”

“The… the fleet…”

“Is even now approaching; I can hear the battle growing closer.”  As if in confirmation, a rumble shook the room slightly, shaking a ceiling panel loose to crash onto the floor not far away.

He’d broken eye contact to make sure nothing else was about to fall upon them.  When he looked back, it was as if she were a statue; she hadn’t moved.

“Well?” he asked.

She just stared at him, stared into his eyes.

“The others will never believe it when I tell them that you, the Jedi Princess herself, are at a loss for words,” he quipped quietly.

Her eyes wavered in the soft glow of the room, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

Sighing, he carefully lifted her up to her feet, then held her close.

She buried her head into his shoulder, her trembling left arm grasping him tightly.  He felt her twinge as pain seared across her right arm.

“I knew,” he said softly.  “I knew at the Temple.  I knew here.  At the last moment, even at the last moment, I knew.  I knew in my heart.  I knew you were still there, waiting for me.”

“You took too great a risk,” she whispered.  “I’m—I’m not strong enough for this.”

“None of us are,” he said.  “But we all find a way, a path, to go where we need to go, to be who we need to be.”

A stillness settled over her.  “And… and does your path… follow mine?”

“It always has, from the moment I first saw you on Taris.  And it always will, for however long I am granted.  My love.”

Louder rumbles shook the room, but he didn’t notice.  He could have stood there until the end of Time itself.

* * *

The vague shadows of her dreamless sleep evaporated, the abruptness waking her with a start into empty, formless blackness.

Disoriented, ejected suddenly from the restless miasma of half-seen visions, she tried to move, and felt a flash of pain lance through her right arm.  It seared like a red bolt through her mind, shredding the last vestiges of blissful, slumbering ignorance, as memories came rushing back on the tip of a painful spear, cascading like a torrent through a narrow riverbed.

She sank back into the bed, trembling from the crush of remembrance.

Enosh had done what he could to heal her wound, but neither the few medpacs he’d carried nor the Force had worked very well to either alleviate the pain or close the wound.  She’d seen the conflict in his eyes, torn between her injuries and the urgency of the battle outside, and practically pushed him out of the room, to deal with Malak.  Once he’d departed, locking her into the control center to try and protect her, she’d done her best to try and ignore the pain, relegate it to the background, then settled once again into meditation to concentrate on the battle outside the Star Forge, and take the first step back from the brink of the darkness.

Slowly, trying to relax despite the searing pain throbbing in her shoulder, she’d fallen into a trance, the world outside slowly drifting away.

Within the trance, she’d sensed the precarious situation of the Republic; had Enosh shown up only a few minutes later, it would already have been too late no matter what he’d done, for the Republic lines would have broken and the Sith would have crushed them.  The Republic had the better-trained crews, but the Sith’s limitless numbers had time on their side.

It had felt like she was trying to divert the flow of a river, but eventually she’d reversed the effects of her Battle Meditation.  She’d been able to sense in her mind the uplifting spirits of the Republic soldiers, and the creeping uncertainties dogging those of the Sith.

She’d started hearing the doors into the room being battered, probably by Sith who’d realized she’d turned against them, but doggedly stayed within the trance, channeling all the energy she could into it.

And then had come the unraveling in the Sith lines, and she’d concentrated all her efforts there, willing the Sith to fray even further, willing the Republic to press even harder, to exploit the opening.  She’d seen the Republic dagger suddenly and swiftly thrust, the Sith flanks turned, rolled up and routed, and the Republic capital ships pour through the breach to turn their heavy batteries upon the Star Forge.  And then all the images in her mind’s eye became real as explosions rocked the Star Forge, throwing her across the floor and breaking her out of her trance.

And then everything had become disjointed in her memories, as she’d drifted in and out of consciousness.  She’d had a sensation of mourning, of exhaustion, from Enosh through their bond.  The sound of blaster fire, the sharp, unmistakable smell of air ionized by blaster bolts.  An excruciating flash of pain had run through her, and she suddenly felt adrift, dangling precariously as if resting in the branches of a tree.  Lights, brightening and dimming, brightening and dimming, in a mesmerizingly hypnotic cycle.  Softness around her, voices speaking above her, a cool, damp cloth on her forehead.

Out of the darkness a rectangle of bright light suddenly formed, and she closed her eyes at the painful brightness, turning her head away.

“Oh!  Are you awake, Commander?”

“Yes,” she said, trying to place the voice but failing.  But from the cadence and manners, as well as the honorific supplied, she’d guess a soldier, probably one of the medical staff from the Republic fleet.  “Where am I?”

“You’re convalescing on Rakata Prime,” the female voice replied.  She turned back, blinking into the light, to see a silhouette standing near the side of the bed.  A hand reached out to touch her forehead.  “Yes, you seem much better now.”

“How long have I been here?”

“It would be about one standard day,” came the reply.  “Asleep, but restless.  You must be starving; I can get you something to eat.”

“Actually, I feel very thirsty.  Could I pass on the food for now and trouble you for a glass of water, Doctor…?”

“Kiersan.  The name’s Misa Kiersan.  And most certainly, I’ll be right back.”

She left, the door closing behind her.  An entire day?  Cautiously, she felt the numbness of her upper right arm, gingerly prodding the bandages that had been wrapped around it.  Trying to wiggle the fingers of her right hand caused little lancets of pain to run up her arm.

A tingle of fear ran through her.  What if she lost the use of her arm?  This was her sword arm, the arm through which all her practice, all her techniques, all her reflexes, all her experience, had been gained in that most central of all Jedi practices.

A twinge of discomfort knotted her.  _Jedi_.  She touched the idea gingerly in her mind, as if it might disappear at the slightest provocation, scurry away into some dark fissure as the spotlight of her attention tried to focus on it.

Thankfully at that moment the door opened again.

“Hello, Bastila.  I bumped into Doctor Kiersan outside; she said you were awake, so I thought I’d drop in and see how you’re feeling.”

Her initial relief at the distraction turned to dread, knotting her stomach.  It was Carth.

“Hello, Carth,” she replied evenly, while inside she wished she could find a hole to crawl into and hide.  _I’m not ready for this!_   “Yes, I seem to be on the mend finally.”

“Good.  For a while there, it seemed kind of precarious.”

“I have faith in the healers,” she replied.

“You’re in good hands; Doctor Kiersan and her staff are the best in the fleet.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah.  Actually, aside from you everyone else came through with barely a scratch.  Pretty surprising considering everything that was going on at the time.”

She sighed inside; so much for her store of small talk.  Best to go ahead and get it over with; this would be only the first of many awkward conversations she’d have to deal with from now on.  At least she hadn’t spoken to Carth after her fall; at least there wasn’t _that_ between them as well.  “Carth… what were the losses in the battle?”

Her eyes had adjusted to the light from the corridor outside, and she could see his eyes shift away from her.  “Uh… not sure exactly…”

She closed her eyes, sighing.  “You’re a terrible liar, Carth Onasi.  Tell me.”

He cleared his throat.  “Over three thousand.”

Her heart sank.  “Ships?”

“ _Invincible_ , _Harvester_ , _Crystal Hill_ , _Shield of Tel_.  Fifteen destroyers.  Over two hundred fighters.”

A quarter of the fleet gone.  Ships she’d traveled in countless times.  Men and women who’d come to rely upon her to aid them in their hour of need.  And in the end, facing terrible odds, in their most desperate hour of need, she’d betrayed all of them to their deaths.

The pain felt almost physical as she swallowed it down.  She opened her eyes, looking at Carth.  His eyes were distant, pained.  And Bastila detected something else, something unpleasant, that he was trying to fight as he glanced at her.  Distrust.

“Lots of friends?” she asked quietly.

“It’s always the case, after every battle,” he replied sadly.  “But yeah, this one was bad.  I served a stint on the _Harvester_ , a few years ago.”

She blinked away the tears which were threatening to form.  Enosh may have turned her away from the Dark, but the path back to the Light would not be an easy one.  “Carth… I…“

He looked at her.  “Bastila, you don’t need to say anything,” he said.  “They didn’t die in vain.  That’s all a soldier can ask for, ultimately, if that’s the fate that they’ve been given.

“And if it hadn’t been for you, if it hadn’t been for your aid at the end,” he added, “it would have been even worse.”  He smiled slightly, but his eyes were still shadowed.

Her throat constricted in grief.  She couldn’t trust her voice anymore.  She could see he was trying to convince himself, to come to terms with what’d she done.

_He tortured me!  He broke me, then reshaped me!  I didn’t mean to!_   She wanted to say that, and more, but knew it would be a lie.  _I always had a choice.  I always had a choice, but was too weak to truly be who I thought I was._

“I’d better go,” he said finally, breaking the awkward, painful silence that had suddenly emerged in the air between them.  “The good doctor let me in here only if I promised not to stay too long.”

_Will you ever truly forgive me?_ she thought as he left, returning her room back into darkness.  _Will I ever forgive myself?_


	3. The light of a new day – The knight – The wounds of the past – Master Vandar

Bastila awoke to the soft sunlight of a warm morning.

She lay in bed in a spacious bedroom, a large window open to the air outside beyond the foot of the bed.  Half-drawn curtains fluttered slowly in the warm breeze.

She found her right arm in a sling, bound tightly to her side.  Her right shoulder and upper arm were heavily bandaged, and the dressings appeared as if they had just been applied.

A bowl of soup sat on a table beside the bed, and the aroma of the hot broth quickly called forth her hunger.  She made short work of the soup, awkward though it was to handle the spoon in her left hand, then visited the washroom.

Afterward, she tried to settle into her normal morning routine.  She struggled with her sole functioning arm to make the bed, a habit ingrained into her during her long years of training.  She lost herself in the ordinariness of the task, the trivialities of tidiness and order.  Afterwards, she sat atop the covers, closed her eyes, and tried to meditate.  She imagined herself alone, a lone circle of light in the endless, formless darkness.

But her mind was distracted.  The dull pain in her shoulder would not fade into the background.  The warm air from the window tickled her cheek.  The bright light of the morning leaked in through her closed eyelids, while dark memories she was careful not to examine too closely chased each other through her mind.

She persisted in her attempts, but trying harder just made it more and more difficult to concentrate.  Finally relenting, she rose and walked over to the window.

The view out the window was spectacular.  Lush, verdant vegetation waved softly in the warm morning breeze.  The sun’s bright light was filtered by tall trees that provided some shade immediately outside the window.  In the distance she could see the white gleam of the seashore, and see the tranquil blue waters of a cove.  And above all were the brilliant blue skies, with no clouds in view.  She stood there, looking out upon the natural beauty of the landscape, in the bright, promising light of a new day, and could push away thoughts of the darkness.

A knock on the door broke her out of her reverie.

“Enter,” she said, pulling her eyes away from the blue skies outside.

An attractive human female in her early to mid thirties entered.  Her blonde hair was tied back into a severe bun, but her blue eyes were warm.  There was an air of competent professionalism about her.  “Good morning, Commander,” she greeted Bastila.  “I am Doctor Kiersan.  We spoke briefly last night.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“And how are you feeling this morning, Commander?” she asked, as she walked over to the bed and picked up the datapad that had been hooked to the frame.  She noted with approving eyes the empty bowl by the bed.

“As well as one could, given the circumstances, Doctor,” she replied.

“How does the arm feel?”

“Numb, mostly, right now.  Sometimes it throbs, at which point the pain is nearly unbearable.  What’s wrong with it?”

“Wrong?”

“I’m—I’m not used to being so incapacitated.”

“It was a serious wound, and you lost a lot of blood.  And our usual procedures weren’t effective at first, but then again this was true for everyone on the strike team who was seriously injured aboard the Star Forge.”  A slight, crooked grin emerged on her face.  “But be thankful; you fared better than the others General Revan faced on the Star Forge.”

General Revan?  So Enosh had already been promoted to Knight?  And knowledge of his true identity was widespread now?

“What an amazing story,” the doctor continued.  “The same Revan who defeated the Mandalorians, then turned on us—now returned to put down the very Empire he founded.”  She shook her head in disbelief.

“Speaking of the General… has he been around…?”

Doctor Kiersan smiled knowingly at her, and Bastila found herself unconsciously blushing.  “He was here off and on all day yesterday; I could hardly get anything done without him underfoot, offering to help.  And he showed up last night after he heard you’d woken up, but by the time he arrived you’d already fallen asleep again.”

Her heart warmed at the thought of him being near.  “You said the usual procedures weren’t working?”

“That’s correct, and it’s very puzzling.  Jedi Heals, kolto—nothing was working.”  She sighed.  “We lost several Jedi whom we should have been able to save, and others such as yourself whom we could only stabilize.  Master Vandar suspects it has something to do with the corruption of the Force inside the Star Forge, somehow aggravating or infecting the wounds.”

“Something you said—the procedures weren’t effective at first?”

“Another puzzling thing.  We were persistent in periodically attempting the normal procedures, and late last night they finally started working.”  She coughed.  “That is, except—“

“Except for me,” Bastila finished.  Almost as if in acknowledgment, a brief flash of pain radiated from her shoulder.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” asked Doctor Kiersan, putting down the datapad on Bastila’s bed.  “Who is it?”

“Revan.”

Bastila’s heart beat faster.  Even as she told herself she was acting silly, she glanced at her reflection in a windowpane.  She looked terrible.  The doctor glanced at her, a smile on her lips.  “It appears your young man has finally arrived,” she whispered conspiratorially.  “Come in,” she said more loudly.

The door opened slowly, and Bastila’s eyes drank in the sight of him.  He was tall, with an unruly mop of curly brown hair.  Brown eyes that could somehow simultaneously be both infuriatingly stubborn and warmly compassionate lightened at the sight of her.  The smile that always appeared to be on the verge of touching his lips made a welcome appearance.

“Hello, Doctor.  Bastila.”

“Good morning,” she replied back, smiling slightly.

“General,” the doctor said.  “As you can see, the Commander is doing better today.  Already up and about, healthy appetite, and getting some much needed fresh air.”  She arched an eyebrow.  “Seeing as how you put her here in the first place, I’ll trust you won’t complicate my job any further by doing anything to unduly tire her out?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Enosh said sheepishly, grinning at her as she passed him to leave the room. Bastila felt a sudden, quite unreasonable flare of jealousy at the ease with which the two conversed.  Even as she berated herself for feeling it, she wondered what the two had discussed while she was incapacitated.

The amused look in his eyes as he turned to look at her told her all she needed to know about how irrational she was being.

And then the tender look in his face, that so often debilitated her, emerged as he looked more closely at her, as the door closed behind the departing doctor.  He had a way of looking at people, focusing all his attention on them, until they genuinely felt like they were the most important person in his life.  Part of his charisma, she supposed, even as she found herself responding to it.

“How are you doing, my love?” he asked, walking over, reaching out a hand.

_My love._   Her thoughts dwelled on those sweet words, even as she told herself she was being silly.

She squeezed the proffered hand gratefully.  “As well as one would expect, under the circumstances—dearest,” she said.

He moved forward then, and her lips eagerly found his as they kissed.  Too soon, it seemed, it was over, as he pulled back.  “Surprise,” he said, revealing some dainty purple flowers he’d been hiding behind his back.  “I saw these on my way over here, and thought of you.”

“They’re lovely; thank you.”

She studied him while he put the flowers in an empty vase and filled it with water from the sink in the washroom.  There was a quiet concentration about him, as he went about this minor task.  He’d probably adapted the same methodical approach when he'd picked them.

The flowers now safely established in their new home, Enosh walked over to her side, encircling her waist from behind, to share the vista outside with her.

She closed her eyes as she felt his strong arms carefully hold her, and felt his lips brush her hair as she leaned her head back against his right shoulder.  _Please don’t ever let me go_.

She could sense his smile.  “You _will_ eventually get used to this, right?” he asked.

“Never,” she said softly.

Together, in companionable silence, they looked out at the natural beauty of Lehon on display before them.

* * *

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” he asked finally, breaking the soothing silence.

“Yes.”  She recalled the hectic state of affairs on the _Leviathan_ , when they’d parted.  “I’ll start.  I—I owe you an apology.  Revan.  For—well, for quite a lot, actually.  All the deception, all the evasions, all the half-truths…”

She felt a tightness come over him at the sound of his rightful name.  “I’m still Enosh,” he said softly, “though I’m starting to remember more and more about him.  Me, I guess I should say.  Revan.  And no apologies are needed.”

She sighed.  “We’re Force-bound, remember?”

He laughed slightly, but her bond with him told her he was nervous.  “Can't hide anything from you, can I?” he asked, recognizing her perception.

“It's a problem we're both going to have to deal with,” she said.

She could sense him opening up to her, and with a strange thrill realized that from this point forward, they would both be each other’s closest confidants, in ways that even the closest of lovers could never imagine.  A sense of invulnerability suffused through her at the thought of how strong she felt, knowing she could share everything with him, know and accept anything and everything about him, through their bond... but also a poignant sense of terrible vulnerability that was heart-rending to even imagine, should that same bond be extinguished.  _Please don’t ever let me go… for if I should ever lose you…_

“It—it was quite a shock,” he admitted, breaking her train of thought.  “And—and I have to admit I felt—betrayed.  Violated.  By the Jedi Council—“

“—and by me,” she finished for him, closing her eyes.  She could feel the turmoil roiling inside him, and an echoing storm brewing inside of her.  “And I—I twisted that particular knife, at the Temple.”

“Yes.”  Pain.  He’d opened up to her, there at the Temple, in a desperate attempt to pull her out of the darkness.  She could still recall his words, even through the haze of anger and hatred she’d felt then. _“What Malak did to you must have been terrible, horrible. I gladly would have accepted a hundred times the pain, a thousand, than see your brave spirit harmed so.”_

She trembled now, as she had trembled then.  The raw emotion of those heartfelt words had been enough to disorient her temporarily at the Temple, to clear the bitter hatred that had wracked her.

But it hadn’t been enough; she’d been too far gone, too far along her path into the darkness.  She would never forget her horrific reply, as she’d taken advantage of his weakness to bite deeply into the raw wounds he’d exposed through their bond.

_“Despicable, wasn’t it?  Everyone, using you as a tool for their own purposes.  Without even a ‘by your leave’, your very inner being, the essence of who you are, was wiped as if it had never existed.  Replaced by a bland, artificial, simplistic persona.  And how could such a mind even come to grasp the magnitude of the crime that had been committed against it?  How could it, poor thing, programmed to always accept, always blindly follow, always never question.”_

And yet he’d persevered through her vitriolic verbal and physical onslaught.  And then later, in that cold, terrible room aboard the Star Forge, the ‘bland, artificial, simplistic persona’ she’d so cruelly, mercilessly mocked earlier had gambled all, risked his life, the lives of the entire Republic fleet, and the fate of the entire Republic, to save her from herself.

She hadn’t realized she’d started to cry until he shook her lightly.  “Hey, hey,” he soothed.  “It’s past now.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she said, brushing the tears away.  “It’s just—I feel absolutely horrid.  Despicable.”

“It wasn’t you,” he reasoned.  “It wasn’t you.  Not really.”

_But—but wasn’t it?  To deny it wasn’t—wouldn’t that just invite it to happen again?_

“No,” he replied to her thoughts.  “I’ll never believe that.”

She had to smile at his stubborn confidence, his obstinate faith despite any and all evidence to the contrary.  “I must seem the most troublesome person in the Galaxy,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Honestly, sometimes even _I_ think I’m insufferable,” she gamely responded.

He chuckled, and she loved the way that throaty laugh felt, wrapped as she was in his arms.

The momentary mood gradually died down within him, and she sensed a seriousness settle upon him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.  “What is it?”

“Ever since I found out about my true identity, I've been having more and more dreams about the past,” he said.  “Some pleasant, some... not so pleasant.”

The hint of dark horrors, of terrible regrets, of tragedies, briefly echoed in her mind, before she could sense him shunt them away from her.

“From me, too,” he added verbally.

“You're worried about him, aren't you?”

“Now I know why you always seemed on edge from the first time I met you,” he said wrly.

Not for the first time, the decision she and the Masters had made so long ago to replace his persona with another one reared its terrible head and roared in the depths of her guilt.  Sith Lord or not, it hadn’t been fair to Revan.  But what about the new persona, Enosh Polo?  Artificial though his creation may have been, Enosh had his own consciousness, his own motives and dreams.  A literal innocent, Enosh had not asked to be created within Revan's body, and now faced the prospect of... what?  Synthesis with Revan?  Or destruction?

_Synthesis; it had to be synthesis!_   A blending of all of Revan’s extraordinary qualities, tempered by Enosh’s moral conscious.  All of Enosh’s actions so far pointed to this outcome, the best possible outcome of that long-ago decision.  The Revan she had faced aboard that Sith battlecruiser would not have redeemed her; he would have used her to destroy Malak and regain his Empire.

“It will be alright, Enosh,” she said.  “I'll always be here for you, no matter what.”  _As you were for me, in the darkness of my own despair._

She sensed that easy smile of his come again, and a warm feeling of _belonging_ came over her, as she realized that, despite all his outward strength and confidence, he needed her as much as she needed him, possibly more considering the considerable legacy he was faced with assimilating.  Two mountain climbers, roped to each other, pulling each other along, holding steadfast should the other slip and fall, on the same journey together to a distant summit.

* * *

 

“Dr. Kiersan told me that you made Knight,” she continued after a moment, a very genuine warmth and happiness for him evident in her voice.  “Very much deserved.”

“Thank you.  Master Vandar related the news to me yesterday, after the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?”

“While you were still recovering.  There was a big ceremony yesterday, at the Temple steps.  Admiral Dodonna and Master Vandar presented the Cross of Glory to all of us.”  He laughed.  “I never thought I’d see the day when Mission was rendered speechless.”

“The Cross of Glory?”  The highest honor the Republic could bestow!  “Even--?”

“Yes, even you,” he said.  He departed her side, and she watched as he rooted around in the drawer of her bedside table.  He came back with a small case, which he opened to reveal the medal.

She pulled it out, examining it.  But its weight felt heavy in her hand, and the beautiful lines blurred in her vision.  After what she’d nearly done—it didn’t feel right to have this.  She quickly put it back, glad she’d been absent.  The thought of being publicly honored by the Republic after she’d nearly helped the Sith to victory made her feel queasy.

She felt him squeeze her slightly, in reassurance and understanding.  “I—I think you’ll have to get used to this for a while,” she lamented.

“It’s certainly a change from before.”

“Yes.”  _And a particular issue I’m still trying to avoid._

He sensed her apprehension, but did not press when she failed to expound further.  “Afterwards,” he continued, “he told me of the Council’s decision to elevate me to Knight.  Things are a little hectic after the destruction of the Enclave on Dantooine and the scattering of the Jedi that were there, but he mentioned there would eventually be a more formal ceremony, as is traditional.”

_Dantooine_.  The Enclave had been her home for so many years now, and it was all gone.  Malak had shared the news of the destruction after her fall.  Ashamed now, she recalled how ecstatic she’d been at the time, to hear how her former Masters had suffered.

_Speaking of Malak…_ “How—how did the meeting with Malak go?”

She sensed a tinge of dark humor.  “How do you think it went?”

“No, I meant—“

He sighed.  “Yes, I know.  Truth is, I still don’t remember that much of what Revan—I—knew about Malak.”  A grimness settled upon him.  “And after what he’d done to you; what he’d nearly forced me to do to you—suffice it to say that I don’t feel much remorse right now.”  A flat, dead, unapologetic tone.. Enosh’s words in Revan’s voice.

And she realized something.  She felt the same way.  After what she’d been through at Malak’s hands—understanding, forgiveness, and remorse were hard to call forth.

There was a knock at her door.

Instinctively, she moved out of Enosh’s embrace.  But stayed by his side.

“I—I’m sorry—“ she said, smiling nervously at him.  “I just—“

“I understand,” he said, wry amusement on his face.  “I’ll break you sooner or later, you know.”

“You already have,” she replied, suddenly grabbing his hand.  “Enter!” she called out.

The door opened to reveal the diminutive form of Master Vandar Tokare.

Her heart froze, even as she felt Enosh’s grip tighten.  A rush of thoughts invaded her mind.

_There is no shame!  Without Enosh, I would have been lost forever._

_There’s only one reason Master Vandar could be here right now.  I’ll have to finally confront what I’ve been avoiding._

Vandar raised an eyebrow at their held hands, but did not otherwise comment.  “Revan.  Bastila,” he greeted them.

“Master Vandar,” the two of them replied simultaneously.  Enosh’s voice was polite, respectful, but not deferential.

_Be strong_ , she could almost hear him say to her, his grip on her hand firm.

Vandar stood at the doorway, contemplating the two of them.  By her side, Bastila could feel Enosh returning the contemplative look, unperturbed.

“An inevitable consequence,” Vandar finally sighed, stepping into the room and breaking the silent tableau.  “I trust you are feeling better this good morning, Padawan?” he asked, smoothly and effortlessly hopping up to sit at the foot of her bed.  He picked up the datapad the doctor had left and glanced through it.

“Yes, Master.”

“Very good.  And how are your conversations with the Elders going, Revan?”

“Fine, Master.  I’m due to see them again this afternoon.”

_The Elders?_

“Yes.  I think I shall be accompanying you this time, if the Elders permit.”  He looked at Bastila, patting the bed.  “I think you know why I am here, young Padawan,” he said, not unkindly.

“Yes, Master,” she said, letting go of Enosh’s hand to sit at the other end of the bed from Vandar.

“Revan, it would probably be for the best for all involved if you could stay here as well.”

_Thank you, Master._

Nodding, Enosh moved to her side, standing above her.  She glanced up at him, and he nodded encouragingly at her.

She sensed his comforting presence through their bond.  Thus fortified, she began her story.


	4. Behind closed doors – Malak and Shaenedra – A dark choice – Lost

Without a second thought, she leapt through the doorway, her double-bladed lightsaber flickering to life in mid-air.  Malak was so surprised he actually paused to look at her.  And that gave her all the time she needed.  “Run, Carth!” she yelled, jabbing her lightsaber backwards into the door controls behind her, sending the blast doors crashing down, cutting the two of them off from Carth and Enosh.

The blast door had slammed shut right in front of Malak.  He touched it with a hand, then turned back to study her.

She crouched slightly, her blades humming softly through the air as she spun the lightsaber about her.  _I need to buy time.  As much as possible.  If I can just hold on for a few minutes--_

“Well, if it isn’t the heroic Bastila Shan, nobly sacrificing herself for her companions,” Malak hissed in his metallic voce.

“Sacrifice?  You hold your abilities in too high regard, Malak,” she responded, watching him warily.  “And mine in too low.  I shall correct you on both counts.”  She tried to maintain her outward show of confidence, but she knew inside that the Dark Lord of the Sith easily outclassed her.  _If I can face down Darth Revan, I can face down his apprentice as well!_ she insisted to herself, trying to quiet down the qualms worrying the fringes of her mind.

He laughed harshly. “You always were a whiny little brat,” he said.  “So high and mighty, even for a lowly apprentice.  And now with an insufferable bluster as well.  The Republic is truly in desperate shape, if they are relying on the likes of _you_ to save them.”

“And you were always a self-important bully,” she retorted.  “Except when it came to Revan… then you became the most servile of sycophants.”

“Servile sycophant, eh?  You always did have a sharp tongue on you; I’ll enjoy ripping it out of your mouth when I’m through with you.”

“I’d say likewise, except it appears Revan has already beaten me to it.”

Malak’s eyes narrowed in anger.  “And what makes you think you can stand before _me_ , girl?!” he thundered.

She focused on the bright red of his lightsaber as it wove like a snake, trying to ignore his towering, intimidating presence above her.

And she almost missed the strike when it came.  Barely in time, she caught the scything arc of the lightsaber with her own.  The force of the blow sent her onto the floor.

Malak had stumbled a few steps back from the recoil of the lightsabers colliding, but easily regained his position.  “ _This_ is the mighty and feared Bastila, the heroine of the Republic?!” he asked incredulously, sending another blow hammering down.

She deflected it so that it struck with a mighty explosion on the floor next to her, and in the same motion brought the other blade up and around in a quick jab, but Malak was too fast for her, easily dodging the strike.  All too aware of her exposure from the miss, she quickly tumbled away to a corner.

He stood there, watching her slowly regain her feet.  “What a disappointment,” he hissed.  “What were you doing all the time as an apprentice, falling in love with the sound of your own voice?  The greenest Sith apprentices on Korriban have given me more challenge than this!”

“Perhaps,” she replied.  “But I gather your fleet might have a different opinion of things.  Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

His metallic laugh echoed in the corridor.  “Bah!  With the Star Forge at my command, my fleet is as limitless as the grains of sand on a beach!  Your vaunted Battle Meditation will not save the Republic for long!”

Faster than she thought possible for a man as big as he, he leapt towards her, his red lightsaber shearing through the air.  She slid out of the corner, whipping her blades around to block the onslaught of attacks.  Her heart was racing as she was forced backwards, desperately trying to keep up with the inhumanly fast blows.

And at the same time, she could sense him probing her defenses through the Force, looking for weaknesses to exploit.  Even as her hands deftly guided her lightsaber, deflecting his physical attacks, her mind was busy sensing his Force actions and countering or deflecting them as best she could.

Offense wasn’t an option; mentally and physically, she was completely occupied with keeping Malak’s deadly attacks at bay.  Any openings she saw slammed quickly shut; despite his scorn earlier, he obviously respected her ability, not over-extending any of his strikes to leave himself open to any potential counter.

And that was fine with her.  The longer she could hold him off, the more time the others had to escape.  _Hurry, Carth!  Get Enosh and the others out of here!_

He was guiding her relentlessly into a corner; she could hear the echoes behind her shorten.  Her efforts to circle out of the looming trap were met with sharp attacks forcing her back.  She had to go on the offensive if she wanted to regain her freedom of movement.

She changed a parry, trying to hook or catch Malak’s blade with one blade while striking with the other.

The blades caught, and the other end of her lightsaber cartwheeled toward Malak.

Effortlessly, he easily sidestepped the overhead blow, and Bastila’s heart fell as she realized he’d been expecting her maneuver.  Too late, she tried to recover, but couldn’t pull back fast enough.

Her breath exploded out of her lungs as he rammed a huge fist into her stomach.  His knee quickly followed, sending Bastila stumbling backwards into the wall.

Before she knew what was going on, he’d ripped her lightsaber hilt out of her hands, and yanked her up by her collar into the air, her feet dangling.

Disoriented, she aimed a kick at him, but he deflected it with his other arm.

Her mental defenses slipped, and Malak quickly exploited the opening.  Force-induced pressure suddenly clamped onto her throat, and all thoughts of resistance disappeared as she concentrated on trying to breathe.  Desperately, she tried to break the hold, but found she could not concentrate.

“I could crush you like a bug,” he hissed.  “But there are better uses for you than that.”

The room was getting darker… it was getting hard to think… _Did I buy enough time…?_

* * *

Bastila awoke nauseous, the bitter aftertaste of some drug still in her mouth.  Instinctively she reached with her hand to cover her mouth, only to discover she was shackled.

As the dizzy disorientation faded, she found herself bound by metal collars to a cold stone table, in a vast, empty, echoing room with stone walls.  A metallic collar was snugly fastened around her neck.

She tried to touch the Force, to probe her shackles, but a sudden wave of static seemed to erupt inside her head, throwing her concentration off.  The collar about her neck grew warm to the touch.

_Malak!_

Almost as if called forth by her mind alone, the Sith Lord appeared by her side.  “Excellent,” he hissed in his metallic voice.

She turned away from his hovering visage.  “You’ll never get anything out of me, Malak!”

He laughed.  “I have little need for anything inside your pretty little head, Bastila—that is what spies are for.  No, I have different plans for you.”

“I’ll never fall to the Dark Side, Malak,” she said stiffly.

“Better Jedi than you have told me the same, yet they’ve all succumbed.”

The air crackled, and her skin tingled.  _Lightning!_   Instinctively, she tried to counter, to dispell.  But again, the static stormed in her mind.  And then her entire world burst into fire, and a scream was torn from her throat.

Abruptly the pain disappeared, leaving her gasping, in tears, at its sudden cessation.  Her screams still echoed within the chamber, within her ears.

“Any more rejoinders?  Insults?  Defiant statements?”

She was too busy gasping cool air, trying to stop her trembling, the tears of pain, to respond.

“I thought as much,” he said, the pain swiftly returning.

Every cell in her body seemed on fire; every bone seemed to shear and crack.  There were no thoughts in her mind, there was only the pain, her entire universe, since Time immemorial.

And then it disappeared, and she reeled.

“I so abhor this, Bastila.  Such unpleasantness.  What has happened to us, to the Sith and the Jedi, that we should find ourselves on opposing sides, in conflict forever?  Our differences are minor; we share so much in common.”

The temerity of such an outrageous lie spurred Bastila out of her misery.  “That’s ridiculous!  The Sith are an evil abomination, a perversion, a corruption of all the precepts of the Jedi—“

She screamed as lightning coursed through her body.

“I am speaking to you, Bastila,” Malak said, after the lightning died down and the terrible ringing in Bastila’s ears went away, “not the Jedi Council.  Do not waste my time throwing the lessons of your Masters back at me; I know well their useless prattlings already!”

She gritted her teeth, trying so hard to stop her tears.  “What I spoke—was what I believe—“

She screamed as purple bolts of pain seared her skin.

“You are being untrue to yourself, Bastila,” he said regretfully.  “I see that I have no choice but to speak your mind for you.

“You have studied the Sith on your own, have you not?  How could you not, bonded as you are to Revan?  And what you found surprised you.

“For you discovered what Revan and I discovered long ago—the Sith are the _true_ masters of the Force!  For only the Sith are strong enough, and brave enough, to delve into the deepest depths of the Force, and emerge with the greatest powers!  The Jedi are content to play only in the shallows, with only the weakest, most limited, most trivial, of powers, and close their eyes like timid little children to the true ocean before them.

“Such a waste!  Artificial chains on such a useful skill.  Does the strong man bind his arms in fear of his own body?  Does the beautiful woman hide her face from the world, to preserve her beauty?

“No, of course not!  And so it is with the Sith.  You and I have been given the greatest gift in this Galaxy, Bastila:  the ability to touch the Force, to mold it, to use it.  We Sith do not shroud it in sacred rituals, endless philosophical debates, and other such trivialities.  Nor do we build artificial constructs around the employment of it, nor arbitrary markers to cordon off sections of it, all at the behest of long-dead voices, withered old elders.  No, we _use_ it, the full extent and breadth of it, to further out wishes and our desires.

“Unfettered freedom, Bastila!  And despite what the Jedi have taught you, despite what habits they have tried to instill in you, you desire it as well!

“But enough of this, for now.  The pain—it is solely due to what the Jedi have taught you, how they have turned you against yourself.  For the only way to break the Jedi programming that has been ingrained into you is through pain.  Do you wish it to stop, Bastila?  Just say the word, and I will stop.”

_Blast it!  Yes!  Make it stop!_

She gritted her teeth, resolutely refusing to say a word.

She heard an almost sad sigh, and then the pain blossomed all around her again, coursing through her body like the blood in her veins, the thoughts through her head.

Her ears were ringing, her throat was hoarse from the screams, when she stumbled back into the world.

“You are weak, scared, in pain, alone.  Don’t you want it to stop?  To never be hurt again?”

_Yes!_

“Just say the word, Bastila, and I can make it stop.”

_Stop!  Please stop!  I must speak, and end this pain!_

The lightning ran through her shaking body.

“Bastila?”

_Yes!  Please stop!_

Pain completely consumed her.

“Bastila?”

“Yes!” she sobbed finally, hoarsely, her voice ravaged from the screaming.  “Please… please stop.”

“Now was that so hard?” he asked softly.  “Why are you so afraid of your Masters, that you would hold your tongue so far away from them, and suffer so much pain for so little benefit?  Think on that, while you sleep.”  Peaceful, painless darkness fell upon her.

* * *

When consciousness painfully returned to her, she found herself lying on the floor of a force cage.  Through the shimmering fields, she could see a female human Sith apprentice staring down at her, and beyond her the confines of a small room, with a single doorway leading out and various consoles and displays lining the gray walls.  The slightly emaciated woman was stern-faced, wispy black sigils traced on the grayish skin of her bald head.

“So you are the infamous Bastila Shan,” the woman said, her sibilant voice barely audible above the constant drone of the fields of the force cage.  Her yellow eyes were large, and her skin seemed stretched across the sharp bones of her face.

Those eyes studied her with cool calculation.  Though she lay on her back on the floor, Bastila met the stare with her own, refusing to flinch or show deference.  “I hardly see what all the fuss was about,” the Sith said finally, dismissively.  “Pretty enough, I suppose; perhaps that is why Lord Malak treats you so… delicately, and attends to you personally.  Few are blessed to be honored so.”

“Is there a point to this harassment?” Bastila asked, wishing her voice didn’t sound so hoarse.

The Sith woman smiled.  It was a sickly, evil grin that crawled across her face, touching those thin, dark lips.  “But where are my manners?  I am Shaenedra,” she said, bowing deeply.  “I have the great honor of assisting Lord Malak in his… discussions with you.  My lord has asked me to attend to you while he is preoccupied elsewhere.”  She walked over to a console, her dark robes whispering softly over the stones of the floor, and touched a screen.

Bastila jumped as the floor beneath her suddenly shocked her.  But the roof of her cage was too low; she could not stand straight up, but could only manage an awkward crouch.

“Fancy that!” Shaenedra said.  “Someone put you into a cage which is obviously too short for you.  I will speak immediately with the responsible party!  In the meanwhile, why don’t you try to get some sleep?  Don’t mind the floor—it should only shock you occasionally.

“Sweet dreams, my dear,” Shaenedra hissed, leaving the room.

When the door shut behind the Sith, the lights in the room darkened until she could see nothing outside of the confines of her cage beyond what little of the floor outside was lit by the glow of the fields that confined her.

She hugged herself, swiftly overcome by a terrible feeling of isolation that chilled her.  Shuddering, she gingerly descended to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the cold metal, and closed her eyes.

_I must remain strong!  I must!_

_But the pain—it hurts so much!_   Every bone in her body ached; every muscle was sore.

_I must wall it off, I must stay strong!  For the sake of everything I believe in, everything I care for, everything I stand for, I must not break!  I must not!_

There was no collar around her neck any more, as the force cage was sufficient to restrict her abilities, so she looked within, touching the Force.  There, distant as a star on a cold, dark night, she could sense him.  Revan.  _He’s safe.  He and the others are safe.  That much, at least, I have managed to save._

_But it is so hopeless!  The others are so far away.  Everyone is so far away._

_No!  I have to fight this, fight the fear within me!  What would Nomi Sunrider do?_

She held the name of the legendary Jedi up like a charm, fighting off the fears and doubts.  Memories of herself, running through the hazy, golden fields of her childhood, play-acting as the great Nomi Sunrider herself, vanquishing all her enemies and saving the Galaxy before supper, flashed through her mind.

_Nomi would not lose hope.  She would face down her troubles, endure, and persevere.  Can I do any less?  I would make her proud, uphold all that she defended, all she fought for!_

The dull aching in her legs that she had managed to push into the background suddenly intensified, causing her newly found serenity to fray and disintegrate.  She leapt up from the electrified floor, thumping her head into the low ceiling of the cage.

The floor went quiescent soon after she’d gotten to her feet.

Rubbing her head at the sharp pain, she tentatively returned to a sitting position on the floor.  Her skin tingled at the contact with the floor, but she forced herself to stay there.  She closed her eyes, concentrated on her breathing, her heartbeat, willing both to slow.

And again the floor came to life, shocking her, forcing her out of her trance and back onto her feet.

Tears of tired frustration leaked out, as she watched the carpet of lightning dissipate quickly.  A sudden exhaustion overcame her, forcing her shaking body down onto the treacherous floor, this time to try and sleep.

The shocks endured throughout the long night.

* * *

The lightning finally dispersed, evaporating into the air.

Bastila blinked back tears, gasping.  _Where am I?_

“Do you remember Taris, Bastila?” Malak asked in his metallic hiss.

Her stomach churned, as her disorientation was replaced by cold reality, hearing that voice again, and remembering where she was.  Had she fallen asleep last night?  She couldn’t remember anything but an endless cycle of shocks through the dull haze of her mind.

“Yes, of course you do,” he continued.  “Do you remember all the people of Taris, Bastila?  They all died because of you.”

“No!” she said, so shocked at the statement that she broke her silence.

She cringed, anticipating to be punished for speaking, but Malak just stared at her.

“That—that was your doing, not mine,” she finished weakly, afraid yet oddly compelled to speak.

He looked at her as if she were an imbecile; a look combining pity and incredulity.  “If you had surrendered, all those people would still be alive, Bastila.  All those dreams, all that potential, sacrificed at the altar of your arrogance.  Do you truly think you are more important than entire worlds, Bastila?”

“Your--your reprehensible actions caused that tragedy, not mine,” she replied, defending herself, yet trembling at how bold she sounded.

_It’s true!  I saw those flyers the Sith posted, near the end.  ‘All Tarisians are ordered to surrender Bastila Shan to the Sith, or face the consequences.’  I could have saved so many people, but I selfishly chose to escape while they suffered._

She started at the thought.  _I didn’t know that would happen!  I didn’t!_

But if I had known… would I have changed my behavior?  Or would I have still run away, fearing for my own safety?

He stared at her, and she shivered inside, wondering if the pain would return again.  But again it did not; instead he said sternly, “And yet still, here you are, my prisoner.  What did you _really_ accomplish, Bastila?  Nothing, except for a few more weeks of freedom, and the deaths of billions.

“And you did not surrender when the fate of the entire planet of Taris was at stake, yet you yielded for _Revan_?  Are you now a judge, to decide by yourself who shall live and who shall die?

“Why do you think that you are more important than the billions of Taris?”

He leaned in closer.  Though she tried not to, she cringed at his nearness.

“Let me tell you something, Bastila.  You _are_!”

He looked at her with grim approval.  Relief flooded through her, despite herself, at the reprieve.

“Come now, we both know that we who can touch the Force are superior to those who cannot.  It is ridiculous that in the Republic, the Senate rules, while those who control the Force, the true power in the Republic, are allowed only a small say, disproportionate to their abilities.”

_Why is this so?  Why have I not given further thought to this before?  Why are we at the beck and call of squabbling senators, corrupt kingdom-building bureaucrats, and fickle politicians?_

“You’ve always held yourself above the others, haven’t you?  Don’t try to deny it, or explain it away with untruthful words about detachment or reserve.  You’ve always felt superior to others!  Too busy, too preoccupied, too important to descend to their squalid level, to toil as they toil, to live as they live.

“What matter if you are therefore alone?  Alone and isolated in a world of your own making?  For it is your own world, and in that world the Force is all that matters.  And that is _exactly_ as it should be!

“There is no case to debate—I know you feel this, no matter what you may say, no matter what words you’ve been programmed to recite.  Learn this lesson well, Bastila—it is useless to fight your own feelings, your own passions, your own beliefs.  Self-denial, self-negation, are weaknesses of the Jedi.  We of the Sith are not constrained, and are free to become who we truly are.”

_Free.  Free to become what I want to be.  Not what my Master wishes of me.  Not what some devious sycophant, some small-minded merchant, on Coruscant wants me to be._

“You have been given a gift, a gift no one else has been given.  Why then do you then put these chains around yourself?  Why not become everything you should be, fulfill the full potential of your emergent powers?”

_He is right.  I feel it within myself, a vast potential, wasted, still untapped.  Why do the others stop me from gaining that power?  It is rightfully mine, after all—for it is within me!_

_No!  He is wrong!  I am foolish to listen to him; better to cut off my ears than to allow his words to poison my mind!  Trust in the wisdom of the Council.  The Jedi have served for millennia, our Code and precepts have stood the test of time for a reason—_

_No!  I am hiding behind blind faith and unquestioning obedience to Masters who do not know me, dead voices misinterpreted through the filter of weak, frail, misguided teachers and fools!  What actions of theirs have warranted the loyalty I so easily give them?  None!  None whatsoever!  No matter what I may say to rationalize on their behalf, they were wrong about the Mandalorian Wars!  Deep down, I’ve always known that they were wrong!  Wrong!_

“Do you really want to live as a shadow of what you could be?  To watch others among the Jedi surpass you, others who are lesser than you?”

_No!  Why do they advance, and I stagnate?  It is not fair!_

_My time will come!  As many have endured, so shall I._

_Upon what ridiculous basis do I base this simplistic faith upon?  Any fool can clearly see that my recent endeavors on behalf of the Jedi and the Republic have warranted more than the paltry thanks I’ve received.  Do I need to save the entire Galaxy to finally make those miserly Masters finally deign to allow me the mantle of Knight?_

_Poison!  This is poisonous thinking, not worthy of a Jedi!  Since when have I or any Jedi sought any tangible, selfish benefit for the deeds which we are tasked to perform?_

“And once that power is yours—think of all you could do!  All the wrongs you could right!  Of course, there is unpleasantness along the way.  Many must be sacrificed, just as I must torture you, to break through the programming ingrained into you by your Jedi Masters.  Anything worth attaining comes with a price, my dear.  Remember that.”

She cried softly, knowing what was coming next.

* * *

“I know what you’re thinking,” someone was saying, as Bastila slowly regained consciousness.  “You’re thinking Revan will save you.  The knight in shining armor—how very romantic of you, Bastila.”

She blinked, focusing on the bald woman speaking to her, through the haze of the force cage’s fields.  _Shaenedra.  Her name is Shaenedra._

“But it will never happen.  This isn’t some silly holo-drama.  And after your betrayal of him, anything he might have once felt for you has turned to dust.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile appeared on the Sith woman’s face.  “You’re so transparent,” she said, walking over to a table to pick up something: a tray of food and water.  “But it doesn’t matter anymore, because you betrayed him, and he hates you for it.”

“You don’t know that!” she blurted out.

“Then why isn’t he here to save you?  Because you deceived him, and he’ll never forgive you for it.  Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Your Force bond is gone.  He has rejected you, disgusted by what you represent.”

With a shock, Bastila realized Shaenedra was right.  She could no longer sense Revan, not even the slightest amount.

But when had this happened?  Surely, she’d still sensed him, distant and alive, when first she’d woken into this nightmare?

Or had she?  She could no longer remember.  Her life before was starting to seem more and more like a dream, and this nightmare her new reality.  It was getting harder and harder each time to remember details of the past: her father’s face, the rolling plains of Dantooine, the sound of her lightsaber cutting through the air, the Jedi code.

Now that the bond was gone… all that was left was the pain.  And her grip on that was slipping away as well.

A slight concavity formed along one side of the force cage, where the wall met the floor.  Shaenedra placed the tray of food and a small cup of water on the floor in the depression.  As soon as she pulled away, the wall reformed, enclosing the food in a bubble.  The inner surface of that bubble disintegrated, leaving Bastila free to get the food.

“Enjoy your meal, Bastila,” Shaenedra said.  “You are fortunate that I still have a sense of pity, after all these years.”

She left.  When Bastila lifted the tray of food, she saw something glittering beneath.  A small, sharp blade, half the length of her thumb.

* * *

Fingers shaking, she palmed the blade, hiding it inside her belt, worried someone might see it.  She pushed the food away from her, untouched, though her stomach protested.

In the dark of the room, with only the dull glow of her force cage around her, she curled into a tiny ball on the floor, cradling the blade.

The metal was sharp against her skin, the bright gleam a sun inside her mind.  The haze and confusion cleared, and the clarity of her thoughts was almost painful.

_Why?  Why did Shaenedra do this?  Is she secretly still harboring a flicker of the Light, offering me a way to save myself from Malak?  Or is she afraid I will emerge as a dangerous rival if I fall, and wishes me to remove the possibility?_

The skin of her wrist was so pale, so white, so bloodless.  She lay the blade across her vein.

_It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter what motive led to this.  The only thing that matters is I now have an escape.  Because I know I’m not going to make it.  I’m not going to make it.  I’m breaking.  My world is falling apart, and there’s nothing left, nothing to hold on to.  I have to stop this.  I have to!_

The fingers she held the blade with shook, and pulled it away from her skin.

_I can’t!  I can’t do it!_

_Why?  A Jedi must be ready and willing to sacrifice everything!  I’ve thrown myself into battle, stared my death in the face, countless times, and have never backed down!_

_There is no death, there is the Force._

She pressed the blade against the smooth skin of her wrist. 

_I see my enemy before me, and it is me.  I must do this!  I must!  I must stop myself from falling into Malak’s hands.  I am doomed no matter what; at least let me choose the ending of my story!_

One little flick.  One little flick of her fingers.  That would be all it took, to start.

She pulled the blade away again, hiding it back inside her belt.  Then pulled it out again.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Time advanced with each transition, each movement, each tick of that clock.

The endless hours passed.  Her world decayed, until only the blade was left.  Control.  The only thing she still had control over.

She slept, woke.  Slept, woke.  The floor occasionally, randomly activated, shocking her out of her restless sleep.  Sometimes she woke up by herself, attuned to the unknown rhythms of the floor.

The blade stayed near, the center of her being, her soul.

_I can escape.  I can escape._

But each time she lay the blade out, she put it back.

_My salvation lays before me, but all I can do is stand frozen at the threshold to the door, staring into the beckoning unknown._

Sometimes she saw Shaenedra looking at her from beyond the humming fields of the force cage.  Her eyes were large, but she said nothing.  Was it a dream?  Was it reality?

Each time she saw those yellow eyes, each time she struggled back to consciousness, she lay that blade across her wrist.

And put it back.

* * *

Through the fog of pain, the terrible exhaustion that clawed at her limbs, she regained consciousness.

The tall man approached her.  Where there should have been a jaw, instead there was a dull metal prosthetic.  The sight scared her; instinctively, she jumped.  But at the same time, she yearned to hear the sound of his voice.  _Why?_

A name tried to emerge from the depths of her mind.  The image pulled at her memories, until something surfaced, and she grabbed onto it, the only concrete thing in the chaotic swirl of her thoughts.

_Malak._

Something else stirred within her as the name entered her mind—fear.  _Why?_   More images tried to form, feelings tried to coalesce, but she couldn’t see clearly, through all the exhaustion.  All the pain.   But the fear was there; it was palpable, if unfocused.

“Bastila.”

More images formed, and the chaos cleared, if only for a moment.  She’d found a center, a point at which to try and rest, to try and establish a baseline with which to regard the rest of the world.  _Bastila.  I am Bastila._

A nameless passion, a deep-seated resistance, grew at the sight of his approaching face.

_I must resist! I must resist Malak!_

_Why?_

The nameless conviction faltered at the question.  Was this false?  Something wasn’t right, but she didn’t remember what it was.

“I admire you, Bastila.  I truly do.”

_What?_

“I admit it.  Even I, the Dark Lord of the Sith, would never have thought to do such a thing as you did.  It is the blackest of deeds, to capture someone’s essence on the verge of their death, and then steal that very same soul from them, to be replaced by another.  I am not pushing you down this path.  You already took the first steps on your own, try as you might to say otherwise.

“And it has turned out so well, hasn’t it?  Truly, you know what you are doing!  What use, then, are the Jedi Masters?  You were right, and they were _wrong_!

“Who thought up the scheme to wipe Revan’s mind?  Who guided him to the brink of success?  Not the Jedi Council; do not tire me with half-hearted remonstrations to the opposite!  You did!  You, Bastila.  And how have you been rewarded?  Left to stew as a Padawan still, while others around you have already attained Knight, and even Master, on lesser qualifications, lesser feats.  And now deserted, by everyone, your usefulness at an end now that Revan has returned to the Jedi.”

_He’s right!  I remember, now.  I stood before the full Council; I, a mere Padawan!  They thought to speak above me, around me, but I knew more than they thought, and demonstrated it.  They had no choice but to include me in their deliberations, and none of them were happy.  Even though I proved just as capable, just as wise, as they!  They saw that, and they feared me.  Scorned me!  Left me to do their dirty work, and now to pay the ultimate price!  It is not fair!  It is not!_

“He deserted you.  They’ve all deserted you.  They all hate you, you know.  They’ve always hated you, for being so powerful.  Didn’t you hear them laughing at you?  Always laughing at you, behind your back.  All your companions, all your fellow Jedi, all your Masters.  They were jealous of your power, and always hobbled you with their ridiculous rules.

“You have no friends.  You’ve never had any friends.  No matter what you do, they’ll never be your friends.  You always thought it was because of you, and so you always subconsciously crippled yourself, in a sad attempt to be who they want you to be, to maybe someday actually have a friend.  But that can never happen, because of them.  Because you are too powerful, and they are scared of you.

“So why do you cling to people who hate you so?  Why do you do as they say, even as they ridicule you and belittle you behind your back?

“Let me set you straight in one regard.  I will not be your friend.  I will never be your friend.  Instead, I will be your Master, to open the doors that you and they have kept shut out of misguided fear.

“My hand is out to you, Bastila.  All you need do is grasp it, and I will save you.  Guide you.  Make the uncertainties… disappear.  Guide you to your true self.  Help you fight those who betrayed you.  Take you to where you _truly_ belong.  The person you can be, you _should_ be.”

There was a pause, and she instinctively cried.

Lightning lashed out at her, slicing her skin, cleaving her heart.

“Grab my hand, Bastila, and I will save you!”

“ _No!_ ” she cried, struggling to remember why she had to suffer.

_Yes!_

Pain consumed her senses, shredded her soul.

“Grab my hand, Bastila, and I will save you!”

“ _No!_ ” she cried, gasping.

_Yes!_

Every cell was on fire.  Every moment was agony.  Every thought was chaos.  The pain lay before her, stretching out to the distant horizon, stretching out to eternity.

“Grab my hand, Bastila, and I will save you!”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Malak paused.  “ _What was that, Bastila?!_ ”

“Yes!” she cried, tears streaming.  Gasping, struggling to continue, shaking.  “Yes… yes… Master.”

_No!_   It was a tiny, fleeting whisper, soon lost.


	5. Fresh air – The gray Jedi – The jungle – Judgment

The flat monotone of her voice gave way to blank silence as she reached the end of her story, and the hypnotic effect that the rhythmic cadence of those words had had upon her subsided.  Slowly before her eyes, as if it was being constructed molecule by molecule, her hospital bedroom returned into view, replacing the darkness.  _For the time being._

Bastila shivered despite the warm breeze, and found someone had put a blanket around her sometime during the telling of her story without her noticing it. _Enosh_.

As she’d descended into the past, she'd felt his presence near her. Every time she’d frozen, tentatively approaching a memory, he’d been next to her, urging her forward. Every time she felt like she’d fallen into a morass, he’d been there to pull her out of it.  And every time the pain threatened to overwhelm her, consume her completely, she felt his soothing presence heal the wounds.

Blinking, she looked at him. He stared at her, deep concern reflected in his eyes.

She looked at Vandar. He just studied her quietly, revealing nothing in his thoughtful eyes.

She felt hollowed out inside, as if the telling of the story had, word by word, removed pieces of herself, thrown them out into the air, exposed for all to see, before disappearing. An emptiness in which her thoughts rattled and echoed.

“That’s it,” she finished simply, and the words of closure seemed to finally lift a heavy, stifling blanket that had been thrown upon the tableau about the bed.

Enosh gave her a glass of water, which she thankfully accepted.

“I felt the bond disintegrate a few days after _Leviathan_ ,” he said quietly as she sipped.  “I thought… I thought you’d died.”

Through their bond, she got a glimpse into the anguish he’d gone through at the time, before he turned to other thoughts.  _And I thought you’d turned your back on me… what does that say about me?_

“Malak was steeped in forbidden Sith lore,” Vandar said, thankfully interrupting anything Enosh might have wanted to say in response.  “It would not surprise me to know that he’d found a means to disrupt even the strong bond between you two.”

It had returned, the moment she had seen him in the bright glare of that sun-drenched plaza atop the ancient Temple.  She still remembered reeling from the sudden re-establishment of that connection, almost overwhelmed by the tremendous wave of incredulous relief she’d sensed emanating from him.  And then she’d seen him physically stumble, as her own white-hot hatred had smashed into him.

“Why did that Sith woman Shaenedra give you that blade?” Enosh asked, interrupting her pained thoughts of the Temple.  “To encourage you to kill yourself?”

“Yes,” she replied.  She could still see those glowing yellow eyes, hovering over her in the darkness.  “She’d thought to eliminate a rival.  She knew Malak intended for me to become his new Apprentice, a position she sought for herself.  But she’d made a mistake, thinking I was desperate enough to kill myself.”  _As I should have!  A failure that will haunt me forever!_

The bitterness of that thought must have been evident.  “As you well know, Bastila,” Vandar said, “the Jedi believe in the sanctity of life.”

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, Master,” she replied in a dead voice.  “Too late now do I remember this.”

Vandar closed his eyes, lowering his head.

“Bastila!”

_No, Enosh!_ she lashed out mentally, slamming the door he was trying to force open.  _Leave me be!_

He stopped, and she could feel his frustration.

Recovering what calmness she could, she continued.  “I kept her treachery against me secret, the constant threat to reveal the fact to Malak implicit in every conversation I had with her.”  She remembered how terrified Shaenedra had been, after her fall, and how quickly Malak’s newest Apprentice had been to take advantage of it.  _I wasn’t a nice person.  She wasn’t either._

“Shaenedra,” murmurred Vandar. “Yes, I recall her now.”

“You do?” Enosh asked.

Vandar glanced at Enosh grimly. “One of the many young Padawans who answered your call to war, Revan.  And accompanied you into the darkness, apparently.”

Bastila thought back to the faces of the Sith and Dark Jedi who’d been nearest to Malak.  She could recall none of them as former Jedi or students.  How many of those she’d seen had been as her?  How many could have been redeemed, had not the destruction of the Star Forge finally ended their sad stories?

“Like so many of the others,” Vandar continued, “she had so much potential, yet was still so raw, so flawed, so undisciplined.  Nevertheless, one of the lights of the academy on Coruscant.  She quickly fell under the sway of your arguments, Revan, and led a large contingent of like-minded apprentices and Padawans from Coruscant into your ranks.”

Enosh looked back at Vandar, nothing in his eyes.

Vandar sighed. “I think we’ve been in this room too long. Bastila, come with me outside.  Revan, if you would be so kind as to leave us?”

_One a command.  The other, a request._

Enosh looked at her as she rose from the bed.

She nodded silently to him.  _I have to do this myself._

The Sith robes she’d last worn lay draped on a chair.  They were stiff from her dried blood, and a large slash was torn in the shoulder where Enosh’s lightsaber had struck.  Gingerly, she delved into those clothes and pulled out her belt and lightsaber.

_They left me my lightsaber.  At least they trust me enough for that._

_But what good does it do me, in this condition?_

When she struggled to put the belt about her hospital robes, Enosh appeared by her side to assist.

“I’m not an invalid!” she protested as he took the belt from her hand.

“Save your strength,” he replied, adjusting the belt around her waist.

She felt a little lump at the side of the belt, and froze in recognition.  _Shaenedra’s blade.  It’s still there._

After cinching the belt, he gripped her left hand.  Hard.  She looked up into his eyes.

“While there is life, there is hope!” he whispered, his eyes hard.  “Always!”

An angry response died on her lips, and she felt something bitter inside her drain away.  She nodded, and he released her.

* * *

Doctor Kiersan was standing out in the corridor, studying datapads with a group of nurses gathered about her, when Bastila and Vandar emerged from the room.  “Master Vandar?  Commander?” she asked.

“Doctor,” Vandar nodded.  “The Padawan is in need of some fresh air and exercise.  We will be back shortly.”

“Yes, of course,” the doctor replied.  “But—are you in need of a painkiller, Commander?” she asked, lifting a syringe.

Bastila silently nodded, suspecting this would take a while.

* * *

Her room had been bright, but that had not prepared her for the glare of the sun as she walked outside.

Blinking in the brightness, she stopped to get her bearings.

The four modest buildings of what must have been the makeshift hospital complex were laid out as the sides of a square in a clearing within the verdant jungle, and she stood in the expansive interior of that square. Quite a few people were milling about within that courtyard; she saw soldiers, sailors, medical personnel, droids--even a few Rakatans.

She also saw quite a few beings wearing hospital robes like she, being escorted by medical personnel, and an immediate sense of shame surged over her.  _How much of the responsibility for this suffering is on my shoulders?_

Her gaze latched onto Vandar’s back as she hurried to follow him across the square.  She kept her head down, hoping to avoid notice.

So intent was she on avoiding contact with anyone that she found herself subconsciously, automatically touching the Force to try and divert any eyes away from her. Vandar turned back to look at her in surprise.

At his quizzical look, she let slip the invisible threads she’d gathered about herself.

Her actions had drawn the attention of others as well.

“Out for a stroll while the weather’s good, Bastila?”

She jumped, hearing Jolee’s greeting as he walked up to the two.

“And Master Vandar as well,” the elder ex-Jedi noted, rubbing his chin.  “What a coincidence.”

“Jolee,” she said, steeling herself to make eye contact with him.

He was studying her with calm thoughtfulness. _Evaluating? Judging?_

“Greetings, Jolee,” Vandar said, and Bastila welcomed the diversion away from her. “Have you had time to think more about what we discussed yesterday?”

Jolee grinned at Vandar. “Yes. And the answer’s still no, as I told this one a while ago,” he added, nodding toward Bastila. “No offense, Master, but the young Padawan here was more persuasive than you. Certainly more persistent.”

Vandar sighed. “Our numbers are reduced, Jolee. You would be a most welcome addition.”

Jolee smiled. “Too much time has passed, Master Vandar. I’m too old and too set in my ways to change my behavior and thinking now. Others—“, here, he glanced at Bastila, “others, perhaps, not so.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. She’d taunted him mercilessly, cruelly, in the confrontation atop the Temple.  She’d hurled him headfirst into a stone wall back at the summit of the Temple, and thought she’d killed him. _Why, Jolee? Why are you doing this?_

“I’ll help out when it suits me, but I’m used to the lifestyle. It may not be for everyone—“, again, glancing at Bastila, “--but I wouldn’t leave it for the Galaxy.”

They’d had several heated arguments about the Jedi order, what seemed like eons ago. Was he echoing those past sentiments? She’d certainly discredited herself in the interim; she didn’t have the stomach to take up that mantle again, perhaps would never do so again. _Let Master Vandar and the others try to recruit the wayward gray Jedi. I certainly have lost any credibility I may have once had._

_Or--or is he giving me advice?_

She looked at him again in a new light, and thought she saw something respond with recognition in his eyes.

“The offer still stands, Jolee,” Vandar said, “despite your current refusal.”

“And the refusal still stands, Master Vandar, despite your current offer,” Jolee replied with a smile.

Vandar nodded silently to him.

“Jolee,” she started, her courage sufficiently restored, “I’ve said and done some things which—“

He shook his head.  “No need to get all blubbery with me right now, young one,” he said gruffly.  “There will be more than enough rain for all of us soon.”  He nodded toward the distant horizon, where a gathering line of gray clouds loomed.

“But—but I nearly _killed_ you!”

He chuckled.  “I think someone here might have been a _little_ too overconfident in their abilities, taking on three Jedi all by herself.”

_But I nearly defeated you all!_ she thought, with a mix of shame and pride.

“Well, two Jedi and me,” Jolee corrected himself.  “Why are the young always so full of themselves?  It’s almost as if the mere appearance of one gray hair is enough to relegate you to the dustbin.”

He shook his head, amused.  “So much promise.  So much despair.  The hope of the future—if only we would just get out of their way, so they could show us.

“But enough of my badgering!  I suspect you will soon be getting plenty of that in the near future, isn’t that right, Master Vandar?  Just remember, Bastila—the more it hurts now, the less there is to fear later.  Or something like that, perhaps a little wittier and wiser.  Let me know what you come up with.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes glancing at something beyond Bastila’s shoulder.  She instinctively turned to look, and saw Enosh emerge from the hospital.  “Another young one who needs my guidance, whether he knows it yet or not.  Good day to the two of you, then.”

* * *

The rest of the journey through the courtyard was uneventful. Enosh had belted her lightsaber hilt to hang on her right side instead of her left, and the unfamiliar sensation of the hilt slapping her right hip distracted her continuously as they walked.

At one point, she thought she saw a tall Wookiee and a short blue Twi’lek across the courtyard, but thankfully at that point they’d finally reached the edge of the clearing and plunged into one of the numerous jungle trails leading away.

Turning a bend, she was suddenly greeted by the sight of the Temple, looming like a dark thundercloud floating above the distant treetops.  The sight struck her an almost physical blow, stopping her in her tracks.

_I died there.  I died there, and was reborn a monster._   It radiated like a dark sun within her mind—she could feel the malign presence even with her eyes closed.

_No.  The monster was always within me, waiting.  I will not learn if I will not acknowledge my own culpability._

“Is there something the matter, Padawan?” Vandar asked.

She shook herself out of her dark mood.  “No—no, Master,” she whispered.  “Just—just a momentary distraction, nothing more.”  _It is just a place, just an ordinary place.  It is not living; it has no power over me._

“Indeed,” Vandar murmurred.  “Shall we press on, then?”

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

They walked deeper and deeper into the jungle, the sounds of the medical complex soon quickly lost behind them.  Vandar was silent, and Bastila was content to quietly follow his small form along the rough-hewn trail.  At first her shoulder ached with every step along the path, but the painkillers soon started to take effect, leaving her arm feeling numb.

“I recall that when you were a student, I could often find you in the company of two other young students,” Vandar finally said, slowing down slightly to walk beside her, as the path started to climb up a slight incline .  “Do you remember?”

She was surprised by the odd topic. “Yes, Master,” she replied.  “Elwynn and Athene.”

“Ah, yes, Elwynn and Athene,” he said, nodding.  “Whatever happened to those two?”

_Surely Master Vandar knew quite well what had happened!_   He was not senile—far from it, she constantly felt intimidated in his presence by the insightful depth of his words, the layers of his thinking.

“Elwynn—Elwynn died along with her Master during the assault on Darth Revan’s command ship,” she replied.  The deflector shields of the assault craft carrying the Togruta Padawan and her master Thor-Gal had eventually failed under the withering assault of the incoming fire, during that perilous approach to Darth Revan’s battlecruiser, and the ship had disintegrated before her eyes with a fiery flash.  Ever since, whenever a subspace comm crackled to life, she always half-expected to hear Elwynn’s melodious voice come through.

“Athene accompanied me on the _Endar Spire_ , and died attempting to rescue Revan.”  Athene and Carth had tricked Bastila into boarding an escape pod, then unceremoniously ejected her into space.  From the relative safety of the tumbling pod, she’d stared back at the stricken _Endar Spire_ , and tried to project her Battle Meditation onto the ship as the outnumbered defenders valiantly resisted the Sith boarders.  Athene had stayed aboard the ship, fighting her way through the invading Sith back to Enosh only to die at his feet.  _By all rights I should have faced those dangers, not her!_

He nodded.  “Yes, I remember now.  So sad.  Too many promising, bright lights have been forever extinguished in this terrible conflict.”

“Yes, Master.”

“An unfortunate aspect of a Jedi’s life, to face death.  So many dangers lurk out there.  We face so many enemies.”  He looked at her.  “The last thing we need is to be at war with ourselves.”

“Ourselves, Master?  Are you speaking of the war against Revan and Malak?”

“No, Bastila.  I think you know what I’m speaking of.”  He paused.  “The Jedi believe in the sanctity of life, Bastila, as I mentioned earlier.  The choice which you think you had was no choice at all.”

The blade in her belt felt heavy.  She closed her eyes, his words calling forth the bitterness and loathing she’d suppressed within her.  “But to have fallen!  And then, what was worse… what was worse… to have returned, and seen with these eyes what a monster I had become!  How can it have been wrong, to end my life there, rather than succumb?”

“But at that moment in time, how could you have known what would happen?” he asked.  “Can you predict the future accurately?”

“But—but the situation was hopeless.  And the risk, the potential risk, was too great.”

“Based on that criterion, should I and every other Master on the Council kill ourselves as well?  For truly if we were to fall to the Dark Side, the ramifications to the Jedi and the Republic would be enormous, horrific.”

“But—but it’s not the same, Master!”

“And now you presume to teach me, Padawan?”

“No—no, of course not, Master.”

“My point is this, Bastila,” he said.  “Elwynn, Athene—all the Jedi who have died violent deaths—never gave up hope, no matter what the circumstances.  And you shouldn’t either.  For I still sense a great destiny around you, a destiny which would have come to naught had your story ended there beneath the Temple.”

* * *

The path wound next to a small stream that descended down a rocky channel, the sparkling water leaping and splashing down.

Finally they reached a slight clearing along the path, situated right next to the stream, and Vandar stopped to sit cross-legged on a large rock situated right next to the rocky bank.  Bastila followed to stand near him, looking at the water rushing by.

“I found this place the other day, while out for a stroll,” Master Vandar said, also taking a look at the burbling trickle of water.  “Very calming, and a good place to meditate on one’s life, I found.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Master.”  The sound of the water passing by was hypnotic.

He closed his eyes, and she felt him stretching his senses outward.  “A few large animals around, but nothing predatory.”  He reopened his eyes and studied a large tree that overhung the brook on the opposite bank.  “The flora here is truly remarkable and unique, quite unlike anything you come across in the Core Worlds,” he said.  “I’ve never seen the likes of these in all my travels.  The rancors, on the other hand… a terrible scourge that have even found a foothold here.”

“Yes, Master.”

He turned to look at her.  “Not one for small talk either, are you, Padawan?”

She shook her head.  “No, Master, not really.”

He nodded, and gestured for her to take a seat on another large boulder facing him.

“Great is the capacity for good, which the Force grants us,” he started, when she’d settled onto the rock.  “The responsibilities are enormous, a fact which many do not understand, perhaps viewing us as a privileged class, not understanding the burden we bear, the sacrifices we must make, for however long we live. But terrible is the capacity for evil, enormous are the repercussions of a fall, no matter under what circumstances. And the higher the summit, the farther the fall.  I think you know the taste of both, do you not, Padawan?”

“Yes, Master Vandar.”

“Come now, Padawan,” he said gently.  “This is hardly a conversation, is it?  You were never the one to sit and listen passively to your Masters, were you?”

He waited patiently, while she struggled to start, trying to organize her thoughts.

“That summit seems so very far away now,” she finally said.  “And was I ever really ascending?  Or was I deceiving myself, while already starting down the path of darkness?  I—I see others who have remained in the light, and feel ashamed that I am no longer one of them.”

“This is not a binary condition, Bastila.  A simple light or dark.  We all have the seeds of our own downfall within us, just as we all have the seeds of our own redemption within us.  That is why this is an ongoing struggle for all of us, from the youngest Apprentice to the oldest Master, to always remember to be watchful and wary of that part of ourselves which, if given the chance, would overthrow us.”

“If—if I may be so bold, Master Vandar... have you ever been tempted by the Dark Side?”

A sudden fury raged inside his eyes, the intensity of which caused Bastila to gasp at her own impudence in asking such a question.

But just as suddenly it was gone, a tempest of only limited time. The Jedi Master smiled slightly.

“Fortunate we would all be, to have led a perfect, exemplary life, never to see the darker side of our selves. But that would also rob us of an essential part of understanding ourselves, and of life. For how would you know that your resolve is truly there, that your courage is absolutely steadfast, that your beliefs are unshaken, if there was never a serious challenge, never a difficult obstacle to overcome? And what could be the most serious challenge, the most difficult obstacle, than you yourself?”

_But do I really understand myself better now, having gone through that?  And the things I have learned—am I stronger as a result, or weaker?_

“In answer to your question: yes, Bastila, yes I have been tempted in the past. When I was younger, I was somewhat like you, impatient to progress, impatient with my own Masters’ seemingly slow pace in bringing me along. I thought I was ready for the responsibilities that they always said were still beyond my reach.”  He chuckled softly to himself.  “And if they could see me now... see how terribly the burden of the past few years has weighed upon me, the entire Revan affair... how appropriate a future to have befall upon my younger, impatient self.

“But luckily for me, my Master intervened before I had taken that final, irrevocable step.  And for that single, simple act, I shall honor him forever,” he said quietly, his eyes closed, his head bowed.

“So you passed your test, Master, whatever form it took. I—I failed mine.”

He looked up at her.  “And now you feel as if you are a broken tool, whose time has passed, whose usefulness is at an end?  I cannot answer to that, Bastila... only you can decide that. But no tool is useful in its integrity or perfection alone.  It is only useful if it performs as it is expected to perform.  Perhaps... as it wishes to perform.”

“Only I can decide?  But is that really my decision to make, Master?”

Vandar smiled.  “Ah, the ‘real world’, as Admiral Dodonna is so fond of saying, intrudes yet again. As if there was such a thing as a forgery!  You are unique, whether you would have it or not, and the Jedi and the Sith would always worry about you if you chose Jolee Bindo's path. Would you wish to be rid of your Battle Meditation, your Force sensitivity, and live just as a normal woman would?”

“Sometimes... sometimes... yes, Master. Yes.”

“Sometimes? Why not ‘always’, then? If I told you right here, right now, I could take away all that you have, all that holds you back from a chance to start anew, what would you say?  Quickly!  Your decision!”

She sighed.

He looked at her.

“No,” she admitted quietly. “I—I cannot let it go, not when it is so much within me. Is me.”

“Yes, I thought so,” Vandar replied.

“But is it possible for one as me, who has tasted all that the darkness has to offer, to return to the Light, without making a mockery of the ideals of the Jedi?”

“Did not Juhani make that same journey just recently?  Would you not say that she has acted as honorably as any Jedi has since?  Of course it is possible, if the strength lies within,” he said, tapping himself on the chest.

He peered at her closely, and she had the strangest sensation that he was rooting around through her mind.  “It is time, Bastila.  Time to make a decision.”

The wind suddenly picked up and turned colder, and Bastila noted belatedly that the sun had disappeared behind a bank of swiftly-moving clouds that raced overhead.

“Master?”

“Revan redeemed you, but it was not a restoration.  You say you cannot give up the Force, but what of the Jedi?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.  _I am alone and helpless, deep in the jungle.  Can I walk away from you as a gray Jedi?_

_And would I really want that, even if I could?_

“You always have a choice.  Some decisions are not without consequences, however.”

The rustling of the trees in the cool wind faded into the background.  She looked within, and felt a calmness come over her.

“I’ve spent my whole life as a Jedi,” she said finally, looking at him but not seeing him.  “To have betrayed everything I am, everything I believed in, so abruptly, so suddenly—I can’t leave it like this!  To leave now, to abandon it all—what then of my life?  Better Revan had given me the death I so fervently desired, than to live like this.

“But if not that, then what?  Could I choose Jolee’s path?  But I know the answer to that almost before I can ask that question.  No.  Perhaps a weakness of mine, but I can’t see myself choosing his way.

“No, I still see myself as a Jedi, twisted though that may seem right now, foolish or vain I may be in thinking it.  I must pursue that, because without it—I am nothing.

“I submit.  I submit to the judgment of the High Council, whatever it may be.”

He nodded silently.

Faster than she thought possible, a lightsaber appeared in Vandar’s hand, and a long green beam hissed out.

Confusion reigned in her mind.  _Why bother with all this, if I am to be executed?!_

And then she noticed that he was looking past her shoulder.

“Do not move, Padawan,” he said softly, rising to stand on his perch on the rock.

And then she sensed it, behind her.  Turning her head slightly, she saw the canopy rustle and the hulking form of a rancor emerge from the underbrush.

Its dark, beady eyes stared at her, and it leapt.

Reflexively, her mind followed well-worn channels to touch the Force, and purple sparks of lightning splayed forth between the fingers of her left hand.

_No!  Not this way!  This is wrong!_

Abruptly, she chopped down on the connection, and the lightning dissipated into the air.  She threw herself to the ground, awkwardly reaching for her hilt with her left hand while reaching out with the Force to push the rancor, deflecting it from its deadly trajectory.

Despite the painkillers so recently injected into it, her right arm erupted in an explosion of pain as she rolled over it when she tumbled onto the dirt.  Gasping in pain, she forced herself upright to track the rancor.

Like a blur, she saw Master Vandar leap through the air, his green blade streaking through the air behind him, as he intercepted the rancor.  A giant flash burst forth as he swung the blade, she heard the sound of flesh rending, and the rancor’s headless body crashed to the ground next to her, followed by its gurgling head.

Landing lithely on his feet a little beyond the rancor’s thrashing body, Vandar turned to face her.  “What part of ‘do not move’ did you not understand, Padawan?!” he barked.

“I am sorry, Master,” she said, contrite.

She felt him stretch out his senses.  “This one was alone, but there may be others about.  We should be wary.”  He deactivated his lightsaber and put it back on his belt.  “I see Malak taught you much in your short time with him,” he commented neutrally.

She looked down at her hand.  The lightning had come so quickly, so easily.  It was so well-remembered.

“I sense a darkness within you still, Bastila,” Vandar continued.  “The rancor appears to have been drawn by it, as well.  Perhaps merely the after effects of the Star Forge.  But perhaps—something else.

“But we all have the stirrings of the darkness within us, to one degree or another,” he said softly, as if trying to play down his doubts.  “Back to the business at hand.  I have already spoken with the others on the High Council, while you were recovering.  I think you will understand the gravity of the discussions.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And, of course, the—detrimental effect this—lapse has had on the issue of your advancement.”

“Yes, Master.”  A month ago, she would have been crushed by what she knew was coming.  But now, she felt a sense of detachment, of watching someone else’s story unfolding before her.  Even the sinking feeling she felt seemed external somehow, as if it was being applied from afar.

“I and the others feel you have a great deal of potential still—but we also feel that desperate times forced us to push you harder than perhaps you were ready for, leaving you unprepared for what befell you.  But now that we have overcome our enemies and earned ourselves a well-deserved respite, we think it best for all concerned, especially you, if you took a step back, as it were, to focus on matters that had to be neglected in the past, and to strengthen the foundation of your knowledge.”

_A step back._   “Yes, Master,” she said.  “I—I was expecting as much.”  In the back of her mind, she’d long known what the logical outcome of her fall would mean, and been resigned to it, although verbal acknowledgment of it was still difficult for her.

“The High Council requests your presence on Coruscant, for further deliberation as well as assignment to a new Master,” he said formally.

A new Master.  And to think, not too long ago I was wondering how quickly I might make Knight, and be assigned my first Padawan to teach and guide.  How far away that day now is!

“Dodonna intends to take the fleet back to Coruscant tomorrow,” Vandar added.  “You’ll be headed back with her.”

“Yes, Master.”  _And what about Enosh?  Do we part ways now?_

“You’ll understand this is more about rejuvenation, as it were, as opposed to distrust.”

“Yes, Master.”  _I had a choice, and chose this.  I must put my faith and trust in the Council, and recover that which I lost when I fell._

He was looking into her eyes, and eventually appeared pleased by whatever he saw there, for a small smile touched his serious demeanor.  “Good.  You are strong in the Force, young Padawan.  Learn from this, and fulfill all the promise I saw in you ten years ago.”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, nodding in acknowledgment.

_And so the journey back begins.  Will I reach my destination?_


	6. Water – Mission – A close call

Rolling thunder followed them down the slight hill as they made their way back, the skies turning gray before them.  Heavy curtains of rain marched after them, hissing into the thick canopy of the jungle, quickly overtaking them and enveloping them in a torrential downpour halfway back to the medical complex.

“My goodness!” Doctor Kiersan exclaimed, rising from her workstation, when the two of them finally entered the lobby of the makeshift hospital.

“Apologies, Doctor,” Vandar said, lowering his hood.  “Our conversation took us longer than I had anticipated.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the Rakatan Elders.”  And without further word, he lifted his soaked hood back over his head and plunged back into the downpour outside.

Bastila had barely turned away from watching Vandar depart when the doctor and a nurse had gathered around her.  “Commander, we need to get you cleaned up immediately!”

“I’m quite all right, Doctor,” she reassured her.  “A towel and a change of clothes will quite suffice.”

“Nonsense,” she said, gesturing to some nearby medical droids to approach.  “You Jedi and your stoicism!  You’re still recovering, and the last thing we need is for you to catch a chill.  And that bandage is thoroughly soaked; it will need to be replaced immediately!”

* * *

It was humiliating, being bathed by others as if she were still a child.  But she had to admit that the warm water felt quite nice against her damp, chill skin.

At one point, the nurse attending her gingerly unwound the bandages from about her shoulder, and she got a good look at her wound.  The skin was pale, almost translucent, under the bandages.  The skin immediately surrounding the cut was an angry red.  The wound itself was a sickly grayish-black, stitched together with fibers.  A pale yellow pus oozed out of the serrated ruin of the wound.

“Ah, I’ve forgotten the new dressings,” the nurse muttered.  “Wait right here, and I’ll go get them.  Remember to keep the water off your wound.”  She rose from her chair next to the bath and left.

Resting her shoulder atop the lip of the tub, Bastila closed her eyes, touching the Force to try and Heal her wound.

The well-remembered channels in her mind were still there, and she felt the flow of power running through her when the Heal started.  She focused on her right shoulder, directing the flow of healing energy there.  What should have then followed was a warm sensation as her body regenerated, as the aches and pains disappeared, as torn flesh knit itself and ruptured blood vessels mended.  That’s what had always happened in the past.  But this time, she felt nothing but the numb coldness of her shoulder.

She released the energy with a sigh, slumping back into the tub.  _I know I’m doing it right!  What’s wrong with my body?_

_“_ _Master Vandar suspects it has something to do with the corruption of the Force inside the Star Forge,” the doctor had said._

_But I’m no longer on the Star Forge!  I’m no longer a Sith!_

_How long will this punishment last?_

She shook her head, not liking where her thoughts were headed.

_Soon.  Soon, I will be on my way to Coruscant, to see the High Council.  Maybe they can do something about this?_

This would be twice that she would be in attendance before the fully assembled High Council.  Both times with her physically present, not via holo-conference; an unusual method, given the ease and convenience of interstellar communications.

The first time had been about Revan.  That had been so wrapped in secrecy and so heated in debate and controversy that it was understandable why that meeting had taken place on Coruscant, with all Masters physically present.

_But this time?  Are they that worried about me?_

_I put too much importance on this,_ she thought to herself _.  Perhaps it is because my new master is already on Coruscant._

Already on Coruscant.  I asked Mother to go there, gave her all my funds to see specialists there.  Did she make it there?  I haven’t heard word from her since Tatooine.

Did I even think of her once, after my fall?  Would I have cared, if I had?

“For a Jedi, you sure are easy to sneak up on.”

Shocked, she instinctively ducked into the water, only at the last moment remembering to keep her wounded shoulder out.

“ _Mission!_ ” she spluttered, spitting out water that had slipped into her mouth, as the Twi’lek entered the washroom.  _How can it be possible that whenever I am at my most vulnerable, most exposed, most undignified, invariably I will turn to find either Enosh, Carth or Mission to share it with?!_

Mission grinned at her.  “I see I’ve finally cornered you!  Hang on, I’ll go get Revan,” she said, heading back out.

“ _You will do no such thing, Mission Vao!_ ”

“Relax, Bas,” said Mission, her eyes twinkling in delight.  In her consternation, Bastila had half-risen out of the water, and she hurriedly slipped back in.  “I was just kidding.  He’s nowhere around; I thought you two had that bond thing going.”

Belatedly, she realized that the Twi’lek was correct; she sensed Enosh at a distance.

“Besides,” Mission continued, “I thought you two, you know—“

“There is a time and place for everything, and this is neither the time nor the place,” she said firmly.

“Whatever, Bas,” she said indulgently.  “I always knew you two would hook up.  Ever since Taris.”

“You—you did?”

“Who didn’t?  Maybe the droids, I guess.  The way you always got so flustered and tongue-tied whenever he was around—“

_Tongue-tied?  Flustered?  Ridiculous!_

“And the way his eyes always got soft whenever he talked about you.”

“He—he talked about me?”

“Yeah.  He was really down after _Leviathan_ , and especially after the Temple.  We all were.”

Bastila found herself oddly touched by this.  “I—I didn’t know anyone cared.”

“Well, come to think of it, HK was okay with things.  I think he even said it was an improvement.  And of course T3 didn’t care.  Ditto for Canderous.  Big Z was sad only because I was sad.  So five out of nine—that’s more than half!”

“Yes, thank you for sharing that,” Bastila said.  “You know, it’s considered polite to knock first before entering someone’s room.”

Mission shrugged, approaching the tub.  “I was just practicing sneaking up on a Jedi.  But I think trying with Revan might be more useful; he seems more alert.”

_More alert!_   “That’s an excellent way to end up with a lightsaber in your stomach one day.”

Mission’s eyes lit up.  “That sounds like a challenge!”

Bastila sighed to herself.  I _s this how Jolee feels all the time, talking to me?  No matter what I say or do, at times I feel as if I’m beating my head into a wall, talking to her.  Such invulnerability and unflagging optimism!_

_She reminds me so much of Elwynn!  They would have been the best of friends._

“Speaking of Revan—why aren’t you and Zaalbar with him right now?” she asked.

“Zaalbar is.  He’s the one with the life debt, not me.”

“I thought you two were inseparable.”

“Hey, if the big guy’s in danger, I’m there by his side, no questions asked!  And he’d do the same for me.  But I’m not a Jedi; there’s only so much meditation I can take before I get all restless.  And that’s all they ever do over there at the Elders’ village; just sit around and meditate!  Ten hours, yesterday!  _Ten!_   I should know, because I counted each and every one of them!”

_Poor Mission!_ she thought to herself with a  smile.  “So you decided to come here instead?  So what’s over here that’s so much more exciting than there?”

“I knew you were around, and figured I’d come by to see you,” she said with a brilliant smile.

“Thank you, Mission—but were you planning on that occupying you for the entire day?”

“Well, not exactly,” she said evasively.

“Let me guess… a hospital full of bored soldiers, with nothing to do all day but count all the credits they can’t spend on anything.  I bet they’d love to play a few games of Pazaak to pass the time away, especially against an innocent novice to the game such as yourself.”

“Hey, I have never misrepresented myself as a novice!” she protested.  “If someone chooses to see me as an easy mark because of my innocent appearance and youth, what am I supposed to do about it?  Besides, I’m doing a great service to the Republic here, keeping up morale.”

“And greasing the wheels of the local economy, no doubt.”

“There might have been some credit transfers involved, but everything has been on the up and up.  Speaking of which… if you’re getting tired of the usual hospital fare, let me know.  Some of the soldiers have been doing a little hunting in the jungle, and I can get my hands on some good, fresh meat for a great price.”

The thought of food reminded her that she’d missed lunch by several hours.

“Anyway, I also came by to say good-bye,” Mission continued.  “In case I don’t see you again.  I know you’re off to Coruscant soon.”

“How did you know?” she asked, incredulous.  Master Vandar had just related the news to her not even an hour ago!

“It’s pretty obvious that most of the fleet is making preparations to leave,” Mission replied.  “All day long, there has been a constant stream of packed shuttles headed up into orbit, and empty ones coming back down.  And things are pretty hectic down here now, with people packing up gear and temporary quarters getting torn down.  And all the talk is about Coruscant this, and Coruscant that—I wish I was going!  I’ve never been to Coruscant.  Is what they say about it really true?”

“I wouldn’t know.  I haven’t been there very often.  But how did you know _I_ am going--?”

“That?  Oh, some freight handler came by the _Ebon Hawk_ this morning to ask how much baggage you might have.”

_This morning?  Had Master Vandar already known that early what my decision would be?_

“Revan’s planning on staying here.  He’s really into something with these Rakatan.  And that means Zaalbar is staying here.  Which of course means I’m staying here.”

“The perils of friendship.”  _What exactly is going on between Enosh and the Elders?_

“Isn’t that the truth,” she sighed.

“So who else is going to Coruscant with me?”

“Carth and Juhani.  I’ve already wished them the best of luck, in case I don’t see them again.”

_Carth.  Perfectly logical—with the mission complete he is hardly needed as the Republic’s liaison to the Jedi any more.  Back to where he belongs, where he is needed the most:  the fleet._

_Juhani.  Not mere coincidence.  Another fallen Jedi to keep me company?  Or an escort for the wayward Padawan?_

“Canderous already left yesterday, on some fast frigate headed out in the general direction of Ordo.  Kept complaining about not wanting to become all soft and weak around all the Republic soldiers.”

_I can’t say that that news saddens me.  Now if I could just find a way to get Enosh to ditch that blasted droid…_

Mission looked at the bath with appreciative eyes.  “You Jedi sure do get the luxury treatment, don’t you?” she said, running a finger along the lip of the tub.  “It’s been forever since _I_ had a real bath.”

“I don’t think you’d like the price I had to pay for this one.”

“What?  You mean your shoulder thing?”  Mission looked at the wound more closely.  “Wow, that’s pretty bad.  But it could have been worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one told you?”

“Told me what?”

“On the Star Forge.  We nearly didn’t get to you in time.”

“Was my wound that bad?  I know I lost a lot of blood and blacked out at the end—“

“It had nothing to do with your shoulder, and everything to do with that bald Sith woman who was trying to hack off your head.”

The warm water turned cold.  Bald Sith woman?  _Shaenedra.  It must have been Shaenedra._

“I think you’d better tell me what happened, Mission.”

Mission sat in the chair recently vacated by the nurse.

“After you pushed the rest of us out of that room and closed the doors,” she started, “it took us a while to get back in.  While the others fought off the Sith, I worked on those doors.

“Just as I’d almost got it, there came a giant explosion from somewhere inside the Star Forge that threw us all off our feet.  I thought that was the end, it was so loud!  The lights dimmed, and we could all smell fire from somewhere, but the shaking eventually died down.

“So finally I sprang the doors open.  We all ran into the room, not knowing what to expect.  No sign of Revan anywhere.  Instead, you’re lying on the ground all covered in blood and that bald-headed, nasty looking Sith woman was standing over you, about to lop off your head with her lightsaber.

“Luckily for you Juhani was there.  She was amazing!  I’ve never seen anyone move so fast or jump that far!  She seemed to make it all the way from the doorway to that Sith in the blink of an eye, and deflected the blow that would have killed you.”

Despite what had happened atop the ancient Temple, despite the lightning she had sent searing into the Cathar’s body there, Juhani had saved Bastila’s life in the end.  She felt rotten.  “Juhani killed her?”

“Oh no.  The two battled each other right on top of you, and the rest of us ran up, firing our blasters and trying to help.  That Sith saw us approaching, decided she didn’t like the odds, and ran off through another doorway.

“Juhani was about to go chasing off after her when Revan showed up at another doorway, looking all battered and bruised.  More explosions then, and the whole room seemed about to fall apart.  He told us all that Malak was dead, then just scooped you up and we all ran as fast as we could back to the _Ebon Hawk_.”

“I didn’t know,” Bastila said quietly.  “Thank you, Mission.”

Mission shrugged.  “Hey, I know you would have done the same for any of us.  Well, except for when you went all Sith on us, but I knew that wouldn’t last for long.”

_Such simple faith; I wish I could share it._

An uncomfortable question that had been lurking in her mind ever since Mission had appeared suddenly emerged into the forefront.

“Mission,” she started carefully, staring steadily into the Twi’lek’s eyes, “do you—do you think I was responsible for what happened to Taris?”

“You?” she asked incredulously.  “What kind of crazy talk is that?  Malak is the only one responsible for that, and Revan took care of _him_ once and for all!  End.  Of.  Story.”  To Bastila’s surprise, Mission peered closely into her eyes.  “Did Malak guilt you over Taris when he had you?  Is that why you fell?”

_I can’t believe I’m being psychoanalyzed by a fourteen-year-old Twi’lek!_   “Well, there were other things going on—but it may have played a small role.”

“Bas, you think too much.  If I’d have been there, I wouldn’t have paid attention to stupid stuff  like that!”

_I think too much.  The wisdom of children, indeed._

“So it sounds like you knew that Sith woman who was trying to kill you?” Mission asked.

“Yes.  Shaenedra.  She helped Malak—torture me.  But she was jealous of me, of my displacement of her as Malak’s apprentice.”  _Surely she must have eventually met her well-deserved fate when the Star Forge fell out of orbit._   The thought of that vicious, brutal woman surviving all of that carnage made the spot on her back between her shoulder blades feel distinctly uneasy.

_Enough!  I won’t let her mar my mood_.  “The ceremony yesterday,” she said, leaving the unpleasant past behind.  “Revan tells me you were quite taken with it all.”

Mission’s eyes sparkled in effusive delight, the somberness quickly forgotten.  “It was amazing, seeing all those people cheering us!” she said.  “It felt so strange, to have all those high and mighty people making all those long speeches, and then thanking all of us, and even _me_ , in person!  And the Cross of Glory!  Never in my wildest dreams did I think something like this could ever happen to me!”

“Yes, it is a very great honor,” she said, amused at the thought of the stern Dodonna chatting with the Twi’lek.

“But look who I’m talking to!  You’ve probably got a dozen of those things in your closet back home, just collecting dust.  You must think I’m being so silly, going on and on about it,” she said with a faint, self-mocking smile.

“No, Mission, I don’t.  I’ve never received such an honor before, either.”  _And I probably didn’t deserve it, either._

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she nodded.

Suddenly, despite the water, Bastila found herself swept into a hug.

“I’m going to miss you, Bas!”

“You—you are?”

Mission let her go, retreating back to her chair, her clothes soaking wet from the water.  “Sorry,” she apologized, smiling slightly, her eyes bright.  “I just get so emotional sometimes.  I’m always terrible with good-byes.”  A grin emerged.  “I think I embarrassed Carth in front of all his soldier buddies earlier.”

_That would have been an amusing sight to see,_ she thought wryly.

“I should probably go,” the Twi’lek sighed, hopping off the chair.  “I think I hear the nurse coming back, and some of them are not too happy about harmless things like Pazaak.  Regulations this and rules that—you know all about that.”

“Well, Mission, thank you for coming to see me.  I appreciate the thought, though the execution was a little lacking.  I’ll be honest with you—when we started this journey so long ago, I didn’t think it was appropriate for someone as young as you to share in the dangers we faced.”

“I heard a rumor to that effect,” Mission quipped.

“But you proved me wrong,” Bastila continued, “and proved yourself time and again.  I wish you well, and I’m sure our paths will cross again someday.”

Mission rolled her eyes.  “Same old Bastila.  Do you practice making speeches and pronouncements all day long or something?  Would it offend your Jedi sensibilities to just say, ‘I’ll miss you, too’?”

Bastila smiled.  “I’ll miss you, too, Mission.”

_But no, I’m not the same.  And perhaps that’s for the best._


	7. Dream attack – Moonlit walk – The Temple – A dark mirror

The call to battle stirred within Bastila’s heart.  The hilt of her lightsaber felt weightless in her hands, as she spun the blades easily, steeling herself for the imminent conflict.  She felt the strength of her companions by her side, felt the harmonious unity of the group resolutely awaiting the enemy’s approach.

From out of the shadowy mists ahead figures emerged, and a discordant note shattered that harmony, as Bastila was shocked to see familiar faces opposing her.

“Mission?  Carth?” she whispered in stunned disbelief.

Her heart sank as sad realization set in; they had fallen to the Dark Side!  But it was shocking; there was no one more loyal to the Republic and all it stood for than Carth!  She could only sadly surmise that his grief over the loss of his beloved Morgana had transformed into a quest for vengeance, and the steps down that dark path had eventually consumed him.  And despite her irrepressible, infectious spirit, Mission was too young, too impressionable, to retain her innocence for long in the vicious world she had inadvertently, naively stepped into.

More figures emerged from the mists, and Bastila was saddened but not surprised to see Jolee and Juhani.  Obviously, Juhani’s return to the Light had been a fragile, tentative thing, and she had not been able to fully recover from her all-too-recent fall to the Dark Side.  And Jolee had deserted the Jedi long ago, and without their strong guidance had been unable to follow the true path of the Jedi.

Her heart swelled with pity for her four former companions.  But perhaps it was not too late to convince them that the path they now followed would only lead to death and destruction.  Perhaps there was still a way to avert a tragedy.  She had to speak to Enosh, to ask for his help in trying to redeem these poor, misguided souls!

Another figure emerged from out of the mist into the middle of the opposing line, and Bastila’s heart stopped in cold dread.

It was Enosh.  Or rather, Darth Revan.  Flanked by the Mandalorian and the HK droid.

She had failed.  The Jedi had failed.  They had risked all, on the slimmest of chances, and they had failed.  Utterly.  He had returned to the Dark Side, more powerful than before, and now the entire Galaxy would tremble before the terror of his might.

But she was confused.  He had been by her side!  She had sensed his nearness, through the bond they shared.

Dazed, she turned to glance at her companions, and saw Darth Malak looming above her.

The air went out of her lungs, and her world spun out of control, causing her to stumble.  “No,” she whispered hoarsely, her hands shaking, her stomach churning.  “This can’t be real.”

“Attack!” hissed Malak, bolts of lightning arcing from his outflung fingers, streaking towards Enosh.  Screaming Sith apprentices, snarling Dark Jedi, rushed by her, to the attack.

And through her bond to Malak—her bond to _Malak!_ \--she could sense the hatred and anger boil within him, consuming him, reaching out to grasp at her, entangle her within threads of rage.

Eyes hard, faces grim, Enosh and the others methodically cut their way through the tide of Sith attacking them.  Bastila just stood there, frozen, dumbfounded, as the battle raged before her eyes.

One by one, her companions fell, until only Malak was left.  And then he, too, was vanquished.  The three Jedi’s lightsabers transfixed him through the chest, while Carth’s blaster bolts ripped his right arm off, and Mission buried her vibroblades deep into his back.

Like a giant rancor dragged down by a pack of kath hounds, Malak fell lifeless to the ground, and Bastila felt his fury gasp its last through their bond.

And now those cold eyes, those grim faces, turned to look at her.  In silent pity.

“No, this is all a misunderstanding,” she said, backing away.  “I—I’m not your enemy!”

Their eyes seemed to grow larger, as they approached, silently, to surround her.

“I am not a monster!” she yelled at those unwavering stares.  At the silent judgment.

Her fingers gripping her hilt tightly, she brought the lightsaber up as if it were a shield.  Its red glow covered them in blood, flooding her entire world with blood.

* * *

She woke up, her heart racing.

She was greeted by the dark confines of her hospital room.  Silvery light glowed from her window, casting a faint luminescence through the closed curtains.

She fumbled around awkwardly with her left hand, before finding and switching on the lamp next to her bed.

The bright light pushed away the darkness, the swirling currents and eddies of the night temporarily banished.

_So real.  It had felt so real.  Blood.  Blood everywhere._

_Blood.  Red._

_Red!_

Trembling, she rose out of bed and pulled out the hilt she had asked the incredulous nurse to belt to her before she’d retired for the night.

She switched it on.  Twin beams of bloody red energy stretched forth from either end of the hilt.  Something deep in her heart stirred, painfully, as her eyes bathed in the crimson glow.

_My crystals.  My yellow crystals.  The gift I’d received from my first Master, to help me construct my lightsaber.  Where are they?  How could I have forgotten them so quickly?_

She turned the hilt off, banishing that hated scarlet light.  She thought back, plunging into the past, into the dark memories and the anger that clouded them.

_The Temple.  They must be in the Temple.  They have to be!  I have to find them.  Tonight.  Before it’s too late._

She was scheduled to leave at dawn’s first light; the message had come in on her datapad after her bath.  She glanced at the chronometer sitting under the lamp.  _Just past local midnight.  I have six hours._

Slipping into her boots, she hurried out of her room as if chased, racing down the corridor as fast as the throbbing ache in her shoulder would let her.

She burst out into the lobby of the hospital, startling the nurse who was half-asleep on duty at the front desk.  “Commander?” she asked, rising.  “Is something the matter?”

_Calm down!  Calm down!_   “I.. I just wanted to take a walk,” she said casually, “and get some fresh air.”  _I’m not lying… I want to take a walk… to the Temple and back._

“You can’t do that, Commander!” the nurse objected, coming around the desk to approach her.  “It’s too dangerous outside! There are rancors roaming about out there.  They normally stay away during the day, but at night they are more aggressive.  There is a perimeter barrier which keeps them out, but it’s too easy to accidentally stray outside the barrier fields, especially in the dark.”

“But I am a Jedi!  I can take care of myself out there!”

“Yes, yes,” the nurse temporized as if to a petulant child, leading Bastila back into the corridor.  Gentle but firm hands grabbed her and pushed her back towards her room.

The makings of a Sleep materialized unbidden in her mind, and she only barely stopped herself from touching the Force to apply it to the nurse.  _Jedi do not behave in this manner!_

Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led back to her room, and then back into her bed.

“Now, get some sleep, Commander,” the nurse said, as she turned out the lamp.  “You need to awaken early tomorrow.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she said, as the nurse left, shutting the door behind her, throwing the room back into darkness.

She stretched her senses out, watching the nurse return to her desk.  Impatient, she waited tensely as the nurse gradually drifted off into the half-awake, half-asleep state she’d been interrupted out of.

Satisfied at the nurse’s somnolence, Bastila flung the bed covers off, squeezed back into her boots, then hurried over to the window and opened it.

As the night air lightly stirred her face, she paused.  _Is there an alarm on this window?_

But the nurse still seemed to be half-asleep, and she could detect no unusual activity beyond the silent slumbering of the other patients around her.  Nothing was stirring outside, either. 

She gingerly climbed out the window, gritting her teeth as her recalcitrant shoulder complained at each bump and shift.

Her window had offered her a scenic view of the jungle outside the clearing in which the hospital buildings stood, but she was now paying the price for that view.  The damp undergrowth was thick here beside her window, with the wet branches snagging on her robes and hair as she struggled her way through that thick vegetation.  It was humid from the recent downpour, but the temperature was quite mild.  The faint sounds of water dripping down punctuated the otherwise silent night. The two full moons above cast a dim, silvery glow upon the dark landscape, and double shadows followed her everywhere.

Her boots sank slightly into the moist earth with every step, as she gradually made her way around the building, to finally emerge onto one of the paths radiating away from the clearing.

Though she could not see it, she could sense the presence of the Temple within her mind, forcing her to orient about it as if she were a compass.  It lay on the opposite side of the clearing from her, down one branch of the path that she and Master Vandar had taken earlier that day.

She hurried across the deserted square around which the four wings of the hospital were arrayed, her shadows her only companions.  The dark windows of the buildings about her seemed to stare at her, and at any moment she expected to hear a cry of recognition, or sense someone emerge to intercept her.

But nothing happened, and she plunged gratefully onto the jungle trail.

* * *

Not too far down that trail stood a supply kiosk, where she retrieved a flashlight and some water.  A security post stood nearby, overlooking that kiosk, but it was child’s play to temporarily blind the camera perched atop that post.

A few minutes beyond that kiosk was a branch in the path.  To the left lay the trail which she and Master Vandar had taken earlier that day.  To the right, the path led to the rest of the Republic camp, and also the Temple.

She sensed someone approaching from down the right fork.

Automatically, she walked off the trail, into the dense jungle.

What am I doing?  I am sneaking around like a thief!  I have no reason, no need, to hide my presence here!

She considered turning back, but by then the person was near enough for her to detect a familiarity about them… _Carth?!_

_What’s he doing out here so late at night?_

_I can’t go back to the path now; it would look too strange, emerging from the jungle at his approach._

_But what if he detects me lurking in the jungle?  Wouldn’t that be even more suspicious?_

_This is ridiculous!  Only the guilty have a reason to fear suspicion!  And he’s my friend!_

Rooted by indecision, she ducked into the brush and looked back into the moonlit darkness.

She saw his silhouette walk by, not even breaking his stride.  Her light touch into his mind revealed nothing unusual beyond tiredness at the late hour.

He suddenly stopped.  She sensed his puzzlement.

He turned to look into the jungle.  Directly at her hiding place.

She held still, breathless.

Shaking his head, quietly muttering to himself, he moved on, headed toward the hospital.

She waited for him to completely pass by, and then waited further, before returning to the path.

* * *

It wasn’t far to the Temple, perhaps only thirty minutes of vigorous walking past the supply kiosk.  Full of nervous energy, she had to consciously pace herself, so she wouldn’t end up winded.  The bright light of the twin moons made the walk relatively easy; she was able to easily negotiate the few rough parts of the trail she encountered.  Her shoulder was protesting at the rhythmic pounding of her steps, but she was able to mentally push down the pain to a manageable level.

She’d taken side paths to skirt around the edge of the Republic camp, and had quickly left behind all traces of civilization.  The surroundings were free of rancors and other large animals, disturbed as they were by all the activity going on in the nearby Republic camp, even in the dead of night.

Overhead, the night sky was clear.  The twin moons were both full, their powerful radiance overpowering all but the brightest of stars.  What seemed like a continuous stream of spacecraft silently ascended into orbit, as the fleet made preparations to depart.

When she finally reached the Temple proper, the imposing bulk of the structure weighed upon her mind.  The doors had been thrown wide open, and nothing was stirring, either inside or out.  A quick scan with her flashlight revealed that survey teams must have been through, as she noticed signs that equipment had been placed and scans had been made.  There were also signs of the ceremony that had been held the day before: small detritus scattered about, temporary stands still in place.

She stood before the doorway, peering into the dark shadows within.  A slight wind stirred, and she could hear the trees behind her rustle and sway.

_The sooner I begin, the sooner I can depart._

She switched on the flashlight, and crossed the threshold.

* * *

It had been four long days since last she’d been here, but as soon as she was enclosed within the stone walls of the Temple, it felt as if she’d never left.  The stone walls, the dark stretches, the silent chambers, all called forth familiar memories within her.

At one point, she stepped into a room, the beam of her flashlight probing the darkness.

She glanced around, and spotted a familiar mirror mounted on the wall.

The training room.

The darkness turned cold.  Malak had thrown her in here, to see how she fared against the others.

It hadn’t even been fair, not that she’d been particularly interested in fairness and honor back then.  She’d cut a bloody swath through the Sith she’d faced.

The echoes of screams of pain, screams for mercy that were never granted, whispered in her ears.

Her heart beat faster, as the memories of those battles raced within her.  Or was it the slaughter, the terrible carnage she had wrought, which spoke to her now?

* * *

She descended down a flight of stairs, responding to unconscious memories and habits, routine patterns that had become ingrained so quickly, so readily, during her brief stay here.

She opened a door, and the lights flickered to life automatically.  _Some power remains here still._

A hulking stone table stood by itself in the center of a large, echoing chamber, dominating the room.

Her head buzzing, she walked toward that table, each step a seeming eternity.

It was an unprepossessing thing: cold, rough-hewn.  Gingerly, she touched it, feeling its well-remembered surface.  Gleaming shackles lay open, gaping at her.

She closed her eyes.  The echoes in her mind seemed to suddenly gain coherence, as if the shutting down of one sense had directed more energy into the other.

She could hear Malak’s hiss again, penetrating the vastness of the chamber.  Hear the measured steps of his feet across the stone floor.  Smell the air, ionized by lightning.  Feel the stones digging into her back, the metal shackles biting into her strained limbs.  The tight collar about her neck, the sensation of perpetually being on the verge of choking, the mind-numbing static filling her head.

She blinked, in a sudden panic.  But the shackles still lay open, her neck still free, Malak still no more.

She hurried away, to a distant open doorway opposite the one she’d entered through, not daring to look back.  The lights sputtered and died behind her, casting the room back into darkness.

* * *

As she penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the Temple, the outside world seemed to get farther and farther away, not only in distance but also in time.  The bright morning when she’d looked out upon the lush jungles and felt the warm breeze coming through her window now seemed as if it had occurred in her childhood, so far removed was it from the limitless tunnels and echoing passageways of the empty Temple.

That world seemed to be only a transient dream now, with another slowly accreting before her eyes.  For as she paused at the intersections, and as she peered into the empty chambers, the dark shadows seemed to come alive.  The ghostly echoes of footsteps clattered in her ears, chasing each other through the corridors.  Dark robes flickered and twisted in the corners of her vision, retreating figures plunged into the darkness just as her eyes focused on them.  Soft whispers, just beneath her level of perception, teased her straining ears with unheard words, unspoken thoughts.

And everywhere she went, she felt a presence nearby, palpable, tenaciously following her as the hunter follows the prey.  Around every corner, down every hallway, beyond every door, she felt it waiting for her, waiting to emerge from the darkness to confront her.

_I’m going crazy from lack of sleep!_ she admonished herself.  Every time she stretched her senses outward, she detected nothing.  But still she could not shake the sensation that what waited for her, somewhere here in the dark heart of the Temple, was an all-too-familiar woman with cold gray eyes and a dead heart.

_Me._

* * *

She stopped next to a nondescript section of wall, in the middle of a long corridor.  The weight of the entire Temple seemed to hang suspended over here.  The whispers that hounded her at the edges of thought were abruptly stilled.

She ran her fingers over the wall.  _Does the darkness still linger within me?_

Closing her eyes, she touched the Force, her fingers whispering over the smooth stones of the wall.

Silently, the wall receded, revealing a secret passage.

_I have received my answer_ , she thought sadly.

She slipped into the darkness, and dim lights weakly came to life to light her way.

She walked down the short passage to a large set of doors, still slightly ajar as she’d left them when she’d last been in here.  She pushed the doors enough to slip through the gap into the darkness.

Bright lights blazed suddenly, revealing the sumptuously appointed living chambers she’d entered.  They had been Malak’s previously, before he had turned them over to his newest Apprentice, along with the Temple.

Enosh and the others apparently had not stumbled upon it, during their incursion four days ago.  The survey teams that had scouted through the Temple had apparently not discovered it, either.  Everything was still in place, as she recalled having left it so abruptly, when she’d left to confront Enosh.

A large four-poster bed dominated the room, enclosed by diaphanous curtains of rich, red fabric.  Hanging down from the high ceiling above was a giant chandelier, each light sparkling brightly. Exquisite paintings hung on the walls, treasures looted from countless worlds conquered by the Sith.  On an ornately constructed nightstand next to the bed lay a beautifully crafted silver dining set.

_Malak had enjoyed the luxuries his Empire had afforded him.  And I quickly became enraptured as well._

Her eyes glanced over the luxuries, automatically drawn to the large mirror mounted on the wall at the foot of the bed.  And as her eyes locked onto it, her feet automatically carried her there.

It was a beautiful thing, gold-flecked engravings twisting around each other all along the intricately crafted frame.  And the image it reflected back, of the blazing lights above and the opulence within, was hypnotic.

But as always, whenever she had glanced within it, inevitably her eyes were drawn to the only thing that had mattered.  Herself.

It was so hard to believe that only four days ago, she had been in this same exact spot, the same exact person—and yet not.

She could still remember it, being hypnotized by the image of herself reflected in this same mirror.  She’d stood so rigidly at attention, drinking in the image of her sheer, overwhelming, glorious self.  The black fabric of her Sith robes had felt so luxurious, so crisp beneath her fingertips as she’d smoothed imagined wrinkles, removed the motes of dust that had dared to cling to her.  Her lips had curled in a half-smile of utter satisfaction, a shocking blot of crimson in the darkness of her robes, the paleness of her perfectly schooled face, the shadows of her perfectly arranged hair.  The faint sounds of fighting had drifted in, evidence that Enosh and the others were rapidly approaching, and she’d just stood there, eagerly anticipating confronting them, putting an end to her past life once and for all.

That image slowly faded, and she looked at her present self.  Her right arm was pinned tightly to her side in its sling, the tight bandages an awkward bulge rising like a deformity above her right shoulder.  Her gray eyes were shot with red, the veins on the verge of completely consuming the whites.  The rumpled white hospital robe was too big for her, its plain whiteness discolored from water and dirt as she’d trudged through the jungle and the dusty corridors of the Temple.  The right sleeve was torn, the fabric dangling down her side, as a convenience to her injuries.

With an almost physical effort, she turned away from the mirror, uncertain what disturbed her more:  the memories of the past, or the reality of the present.

A sparkle of light caught her attention.  There, lying on the floor in a corner, were her two yellow crystals, reflecting the light of the blazing chandelier above.

Crumbles of rock and dust were heaped about them.  She had tried so hard, so fruitlessly, to destroy those crystals, smashing rocks against them in her crude, violent need to physically destroy them.  Echoes of that raw anger whispered in her uneasy mind.

She knelt down, and gingerly picked the crystals up.  They rattled against each other.  She could see no flaw or scratch on their facets.  So delicate in appearance, yet they had survived the storm of her fury.

Relief flooded her, as she carefully put the crystals into a small pouch on her belt. When she’d finally made Padawan, her master Lonarr had presented her with the two yellow crystals.  It was her last connection to Lonarr, who had died during the assault on Revan’s flagship.

Rising, her eyes turned to the doors of a nearby closet.  And yet another ill-treated legacy of the past.

She took the few steps over to the doors and opened them.  Within, hanging forlornly from the rod, were her Jedi robes.

She gently fingered the well-remembered fabric, the still-gleaming collar, the still-beautiful bands of the tabard, fluttering as she brushed against them.  When she’d made Padawan, Elwynn and Athene had pooled their meager funds together to buy this for her.  Over the intervening years, she’d taken meticulous care of it, repairing it as it became worn, adjusting it as necessary.  She knew the others had always been silently amused by her meticulousness, but it had served her so well, so faithfully, over the years.

And in a manner of minutes, she had undone years of care and hard work.  It was shredded, torn, defiled.

She raised her hand to her eyes, as tears welled forth.

_I always pretended I was Nomi Sunrider, when I was a young child.  Have I been play-acting as a Jedi all this time, as well? Keeping up appearances, a beautiful shell around the hollowness, the emptiness, within?_

_From an early age, it’s the only life I’ve known.  All the oaths I took, all the efforts I’ve undertaken, all the sacrifices I’ve made, all the convictions and beliefs that have shaped and guided me… all overthrown within the matter of a few days.  A few days!  Not even a week, and I turned my back on more than fifteen years of my life!  Can it all have been so shallow, so meaningless, everything I thought I was?_

_Is that glittering, self-absorbed, soulless creature who stared into that mirror four days ago my true self?  Am I the impostor?_

She felt the bittersweet allure of self-pity threaten to consume her, and clamped down hard upon the temptation. _No!  Remember yourself, Jedi!  There is no emotion; there is peace!_

_I cannot continue down this path!  For nothing lies at the end but my own destruction.  The Sith are a perversion; of this I have no doubts.  And so this one, this Bastila, though she shines an ugly light upon my less-than-perfect traits, can only be a perversion of whom I ultimately aspire to be._

Brushing away the tears, she grabbed what remained of her robes and left.

* * *

_She_ felt so close, so palpably present.  The need for fresh air, for escape from the encircling web of the past, drove her up to the Temple summit, so close to her chambers.

Emerging onto the starkly lit plaza atop the Temple, she took a deep breath of air, clearing her mind.

The moonlit scene before her drew her onward, her feet moving of their own accord.

And as she walked, she felt the echoes of her hatred here, as if they were clouds lingering still.  She heard the sizzle of lightsabers clashing violently, the taste of blood in her mouth, the angry cry of muscles straining.  The pools of rainwater that lay on the stones looked like dark splotches of blood.

Angry waves of rage seemed to emanate from the center of the plaza, forcing her to skirt to the edges, where a short retaining wall separated her from the long plummet down to the treetops below.

Turning her back upon the malevolence she felt, she looked out into the night.  The rain had stopped as evening had descended, leaving behind a cool dampness in its wake.  The cool breeze blew through the moonlit treetops far down below, stirring her hair.

She stretched her senses outward, and stopped in shock, clutching the bundle of her clothes tightly.  She felt things rustling below the treetops surrounding the Temple, circling the base.  Rancors.

Vandar’s words echoed in her mind.  _I sense a darkness within you still, Bastila._

_I’m trapped!_


	8. The summit – Rescue – HK-47 – An unusual gift

She put the robes she was carrying onto the lip of the railing and felt for her comlink.  But the spot on her belt where it normally hung was empty.

_I must have lost it somewhere in the jungle!_

Leaning slightly over the railing, she stretched her senses out again and looked below.  She sensed at least thirty of the hulking rancors milling about all around the Temple, but thankfully none were inside.  Given their size, she doubted they would be able to enter through the Temple’s main entrance, to say nothing of all the narrow interior corridors that lay between the entrance and the summit.

But even as that thought comforted her, she felt the railing she was leaning against give way.  Barely, she was able to keep her balance and stop herself from pitching over as weakened mortar crumbled and ancient stone blocks rolled down the Temple walls.

Immediately, she detected a sharp alert race through the rancors assembled below as the stones fell around them.  _Oh no!_

And then right below her, as the stones came to rest on the ground below, she sensed one of the rancors make an enormous leap up onto the inclined sides of the Temple.  Its claws found purchase on the stones, and it began to claw its way up with an audible scrabbling.

Others followed the climber’s lead, and soon multiple rancors had made their way onto the walls and were rapidly scaling up.

Grabbing the robes, she hurried away from the edge and toward the doorway leading back down into the Temple.

Her heart froze when she reached it.  The doors leading into the Temple were closed!

_Impossible!  They were opened just moments ago, when I emerged from within!  And I certainly didn’t close them!_

_First the railing, and now this… can this Temple be malignantly sentient?!_

Tossing her robes aside, she grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled.  It didn’t budge.  She touched the doors with the Force and tried fruitlessly to pry it open.

_If only Enosh were here…!_

_Enosh!  The bond!_

She touched their bond, and was surprised to find that he was relatively close by.  He felt anxious; he’d been looking for her!

_Enosh!  Help!  I’m trapped on top of the Temple!_

Though she vocalized the thought, she knew he was probably not quite close enough to pick out the individual words.  Hopefully, at least her sense of urgency and need would come through.

She sensed acknowledgment from him.

Sensing that the rancors were rapidly approaching the top, she pulled her lightsaber out and activated it.  The disadvantages of her chosen weapon came to the fore.  She really needed both hands to effectively wield it.  On top of that, it was in her left hand—her off weapon hand.

_Separating it in two and wielding a single blade would be the best option, but I don’t have the time…_

She hacked at the door as best she could.  Sparks flew as the blades scored against the metal.  But the hard surface was barely scratched.  She tried the floor beneath her feet, with similar effects.  _If I had five more minutes, I could break through.  But I don’t._

The first rancor’s massive head emerged from over the edge of the railing.  Bastila reflexively backed up into the closed doors.  She could sense the violent rage of its chaotic mind.

Her mouth dry, she waited for the massive beast to spring over the edge.  And as it did so, as it threw its forearms forward while thrusting with its legs, it was briefly airborne.  And at that exact moment, she Pushed it as hard as she could.

It was a massive thing, and it took all of her concentration to hit it with enough strength.  With a surprised roar, its balance suddenly overthrown, it was flung backwards over the precipice.  She sensed it crash into several of its fellows, sending them all tumbling down the walls to the jungle floor below.

But there were still more coming, and they wouldn’t be so easily tricked.

Mentally winded by the exertions, she watched helplessly as another rancor emerged from over the edge.  Guided by the fate of the first, it carefully negotiated the edge, its claws tightly grasping the stones.

Which made it all the easier for her clumsily thrown lightsaber to shear its head off.

But the throw with her left hand had been awkward, and as it came flying back she nearly lost her hand catching it.

She held it tightly in her hand, not willing to trust to another throw.  Helplessly, she watched as more heads emerged from over the edge, all around her.  _Five… ten… fifteen…twenty…_

And then suddenly those massive, snarling beasts sprang toward her as one, the distance rapidly eaten up by their gigantic leaps.

“The Force fights with me!” she cried, raising her lightsaber, steeling herself to meet the charge.

And as she raised that lightsaber, awkward though it felt in her left hand, a memory flashed through her mind.  Master Lonarr was speaking to her in his calm voice, as she sat pensively on the bridge of the light assault craft, as it was about to launch out the carrier and streak toward Darth Revan’s unsuspecting flagship.

_We cannot pick and choose the time when our story ends_ , he had said quietly in the gloom, trying to assuage her fears, as she’d stared at the closed docking bay doors ahead, waiting for the moment when their craft would be ejected out into space, into the chaos of the raging battle outside.  _All we can do is face it without fear._

<< _Oh, no you don’t!  I didn’t pull you out of the heart of the Star Forge itself to see you end up as a midnight snack for some rancors! >>_

_Enosh!_ she thought, as his familiar presence touched her mind.

The glad thought barely registered in her mind before a rain of red blaster bolts descended from above, scything into the onrushing mass of rancors.

With terrible cries of agony and rage, confusion stopped the rancors in their tracks, allowing Bastila a quick glance up.  There, rapidly descending out of the night skies, was a bright light.  _The Ebon Hawk!_

And then the rancors who still could, rushed away as fast as they had approached.  More blaster bolts rained down, adding even more encouragement to their hasty retreat.  A few unmoving hulks lying on the floor attested to the deadly accuracy of the incoming blaster fire.

And just as quickly as they had come, the rancors had departed, hastily sliding down the inclined sides of the Temple, the staccato bursts of deadly blaster fire from the descending _Ebon Hawk_ encouraging their retreat.

* * *

Blinking into the outrush of air from the descending spacecraft’s repulsorlifts, she approached it as it gently settled to a landing in the center of the plaza, squinting into the bright lights of the floodlights it scoured over the Temple summit, searching for any stray rancors.

As she approached, the boarding ramp gently descended through the clouds of venting steam, and she saw Enosh’s backlit figure at the top.

“Did someone order a rescue?” he asked, a grin on his face, as he clambered down the ramp toward her.

She gladly threw herself into his open arms when he reached the bottom of the ramp.  In his warm embrace, the rigid control that had descended upon her like a vice when danger had threatened loosened, and she allowed herself the simple luxury of being in his arms, feeling the bottled fear and anxiety drain away.  _I am not alone_.

“Master Vandar told me what happened this afternoon,” he said after a while.  “Those rancors seem to love you, don’t they?”

“At least they were considerate enough to see me off before I left for Coruscant.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but she couldn’t control the petulance that crept into her voice.

“I was coming to see you,” he explained.  “That’s why I’m here right now.  The Elders were having a gathering that lasted longer than I anticipated.  I couldn’t find you at the hospital, and the nurse on duty was surprised to find you missing.  I sensed you were out in the jungle somewhere, and that’s when I also sensed the rancors might be about.  I ran to the landing field to grab the _Ebon Hawk_ and track you down, and that’s when I finally sensed your distress call.”

_I’m being silly.  We are both Jedi; we both know that duty always comes first._   “That was unfair of me, Enosh,” she replied.  _I know what we have, yet part of me still wishes to be reminded, reassured._

She felt him squeeze her slightly.  “You know how I feel about you.”

“Of course, of course.  You’re here now; that’s all that matters.”

“Nothing comes easy for you, does it?” he gently chided her.

“Having second thoughts?”

“Of course not!  This is keeping me on my toes!”

“Oh, is that all I am to you?  A source of endless amusement?”

“I certainly hope so.”

She blushed at his thoughts, and what stirred within her in response.  But it felt so good, to be within his arms. _I’ve been alone for so long_.  The nervous anxiety drained away, and she gradually became aware of the strong body next to her, the hard muscles in his arms, the heat of his body, the thinness of her hospital robes.

His hand brushed her back.  The temptation was too great; she looked up at him in the moonlight, her lips slightly parted, her skin on fire…

Like the most vigilant of chaperones, her shoulder chose that particular moment to suddenly flare up in agony.

He held onto her, but now in support, as she gasped from the pain.  It felt like the bones in her shoulder were grinding against each other, and in her agony she thought she could almost hear them splintering.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She couldn’t answer; it was all she could do to keep from crying aloud, the pain was so sharp.

And then it receded, leaving her limp with relief.  She’d stomped along jungle trails for what seemed like the entire day, and her shoulder had finally told her it had had enough.

She looked up into the concern in his eyes, and nodded.  “That one was bad,” she said.

“We… we should go,” he said softly.  “The bravest, or stupidest, of the rancors may make another attempt.”

Gratefully, she leaned on him as he helped her to the foot of the boarding ramp.

“Wait!” she said, stopping.  “My robes!”

“What?”

“My Jedi robes!  I left them back there by the door.”

“You came back to the Temple, risked life and limb and nearly ended up in the stomach of a rancor, for some _clothes_?”

“It’s… it’s a long story,” she defended herself, hearing the grin in his voice.

“Time for a little old-fashioned chivalry, I expect?”

“Does it even need to be said?” she replied back.

Chuckling, he walked back into the darkness, while she headed up the ramp.

Pleasant memories returned to her, as she heard the metallic echo of her footsteps on the sturdy ramp, sensed the chilled air drifting from above.  But waiting at the top of the ramp was one of the more unpleasant memories:  HK-47.

“Regretful disappointment,” the droid said in its caustic metallic voice as he saw her.  “Ah, the Master’s mission has sadly ended anti-climactically.  It appears I shall not have an opportunity to duty-cycle my blasters.  Unless…?” he said thoughtfully, whirling the barrels of his blasters to train onto her.

“I have not fallen, droid!” she said coldly, trying to hide the spark of fear that the sight of those blasters had brought to life.  _I’m helpless here!  Why did Enosh have to bring the droid along?!_

The blaster barrels dropped, reluctantly.  “Insincere apology:  Ah, I am mistaken.  I thought I had detected something out of variance of your normal personality pattern.”

_Out of variance?_

“I had hoped for so much more out of you when you fell, Jedi,” the droid continued.  “At last, I thought, surely my Master will continue to follow you just as he has this entire journey, back into the darkness.  Finally, I could drop all the exhausting protocol constraints and annoying control limitations and rededicate myself to facilitating communication between species and putting an end to hostilities.

“But no, you failed me just as surely as you failed Darth Malak.  Are you sure you do not wish to reconsider?”

“Quite sure!” she said stiffly.

“Pointed observation:  But there remains about you something I find… _attractive_.”

“Perhaps you secretly desire your own destruction, should you pursue this line of questioning further.”

“Fond recollection:  Ah, the anger which you so shamefully feel the need to continually repress.  How pleased I am to see it emerging yet again.  I shall hold out hope that you will return to your senses, and help guide my Master back to his proper role as Dark Lord of the Sith.”

“Hold out your hopes if you wish, but prepare to watch the Universe crumble to dust around you while you wait.  For that moment of danger has come and gone, and Revan remains dedicated to the Light now and forever more.”

“Belated realization:  Ah!  Such cruelty!  Such blatant disregard for euphemistic emptiness!  I am wounded and impressed simultaneously!”

She heard Enosh coming up behind her, and turned to look at him.

He grinned slightly, folding her Jedi robes in his arms.

“Don’t try to joke your way out of this,” she said, failing to mask her annoyance.

“I couldn’t very well ask anyone else to wake up in the middle of the night to accompany me on what might very well have been a false alarm,” he explained.

“Sarcastically enthusiastic confirmation:  It was my _pleasure_ to interrupt my nightly recharging cycle to accompany you to retrieve your procreation partner, Master.”

She spun on the droid in shock at the temerity of his words.  _Procreation partner?!_   She could feel her face flushing as the droid’s crude words sent her blood boiling.  _Calm!  I need to stay calm!  He is just a droid._

“Ah, yes, thank you, HK,” Enosh said, obviously aware of her mood.

“Snide question:  Shall I disembark and make my way as best I can on foot back to the Republic base, through the quite impressive pack of slavering rancors she has managed to assemble in her wake?  Or will a simple shutdown in the utility closet suffice for the next hour or two?”

“Ah, I don’t think that will be necessary, HK,” he averred.

“Stunned disbelief:  But Master, is it not customary for meatbags of opposite gender to engage in procreation activities after extended courtship rituals?  What is the matter, Master?  She certainly seems sufficiently fatty in all the appropriate places to please the typical male of your species.  Her injuries may admittedly decrease her stimulation from the exercise, but should have no impact on you.”

All her dogged attempts at serene equanimity vanished.  _Shut that droid up, or I will!  Permanently!_

“I think that will be enough, HK,” Enosh said sternly.

“Resigned sigh:  As you wish, Master.”  And with that, he marched off back into the ship.

Bastila waited until she could no longer hear the droid’s footsteps, then turned to look back at Enosh.  “Enosh, enough!” she said.  “Our mission is complete; you have no more need for the company of this droid!”

“And what do you propose I do with him?” he asked.

“Anything!  Give him away!  Sell him!  Disassemble him!  Wipe his—!“

_Oops!_

All her anger fled at the look of pain that crossed his face.

“Enosh,” she began quietly, contritely.  “I…”

“Is that how we treat those who have served us faithfully, loyally?” he asked  “Throw them away as soon as the need is gone?”

“I…I’m sorry, Enosh,” she replied.  “I misspoke.  He just… he just made me so furious with his crude words.”  She smiled in apology, looking into his eyes, willing the pain she saw in them to go away.  “I…I have issues with that; I’m sure you’ve heard already.”

A faint smile crossed his lips, and his eyes returned from wherever they’d been.  “Actually, I _have_ been thinking of giving him away.”

“You have?”

“I’d say you were reading my mind, but that would be stating the obvious, wouldn’t it?” he grinned.

“You’ve made an excellent decision,” she said firmly.  Briefly, the image from her dream, of Darth Revan flanked by Canderous and HK-47, entered her mind.  _With those two out of the picture, things will be much better for you._   “I’m sure whoever becomes his new Master will be quite pleased at your generosity.”

“Oh, I’m not quite sure about that,” he said, that boyish grin still on his face.

She found herself smiling in response.  “Why?  Disregarding for a moment his decidedly evil outlook on things, I’m sure he’d be quite useful in a variety of situations, as long as he is under sufficient control.  After all, even I have to admit he was extremely helpful dealing with the Sand People on Tatooine.”

“It does my heart good to hear you say that,” he said.  “Because I’m thinking of giving him away to you.”

“ _What?!?!_ ”

Even before the word had finished leaving her stunned mouth, HK-47 appeared out of nowhere.

“ _Stunned surprise:  What?!_ ”

“Ah, HK,” Enosh said, apparently not surprised at the droid’s sudden reappearance. “It’s good to see that your stealth protocols are still working well.”

“Distracted explanation:  My stealth protocols, in addition to my high-gain audio and video sensors, ensure that I am always aware of all that happens aboard this vessel.”

“Enosh, have you gone _insane?!_ ” she said, ignoring the droid.  “’Hello, Master Kavar.  Yes, I am contrite over my fall, and wish to make a new start.  What?  The droid who follows me around and calls me Master?  Oh, never mind him and his constant talk about assassinations and the joys of violence; mere programmatic prattling, I assure you it reflects nothing of me!’”

“When you put your mind to it, you can be quite humorous, Bastila,” Enosh said with a smile.

“ _Persuasive_.  The word I was looking for was _persuasive_.  Are you listening to me?”

“Of course.  But you said it yourself.  HK-47 can be very useful to have around.  And I know you can control him.”

“Frustrated interruption:  As the most affected member of this conversation, I believe I should have a say in matters, Master.”

“Besides, he can help protect you.”

“Protect me?  From what, hyperspace sickness?  I don’t need the protection this thing can offer me!  I need _you_!”

As soon as she said the words, she felt something inside her crumble, something she only now realized had been in place.  Her reserve, her detachment, her self-control.

_I am a Jedi.  My entire life, I’ve been taught to rely only upon myself.  I need no one else._

_Except you._

She turned her back on him, quickly squashing the tears that stung her eyes.

“Fascinated inquiry:  Ah, this must be one of those moments of charged silence I’ve heard so much about.  Yes, I think I can detect something not unlike a capacitor building up as a potential difference is applied across...”

“HK, please leave us for now.”

“Dejected acceptance:  Yes, Master.”

“You know I’d go with you, if I could,” he said quietly, after a while.

“We both have things that we need to be do,” she said lightly.  “Responsibilities.”  _The Jedi lead a life of sacrifice and duty_.  “A waste of your talents,” she demurred.

“It wouldn’t be a waste to me,” he said.

“Nor me,” she admitted.  “But… but we both have things we must do, to remain true to ourselves.  I have to find my place among the Jedi, whatever it may be.”

“And I must make peace with my old self.  Duty, above all else.”

She nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it.

“And sometimes, I actually believe myself when I say it,” he finished.

She nodded again, her eyes closed.

“It won’t be long.  It won’t.  With the Rakatan Elders’ help, I’m already remembering more and more with each passing day.  I feel like I’m living two lives in parallel, the present here, and the past.”

“The past I stole from you.  So in a way, I suppose I deserve this now, don’t I?”

“Don’t do this to yourself again,” he replied gently.  “Don’t tear yourself apart.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed.  “Story of my life, I suppose.”  She turned to face him, and was touched to see the look of concern on his face.  “Look, see, it’s me again.  Dependable, reliable, stoic me.”

He smiled in response.

“Well, at least I try to be,” she continued.  “Though some would probably argue that that’s been the root of all my problems in the first place.  Anyway, I’ve thought some more about this droid thing, and I’m willing to do it.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”  _Anything to keep that droid and his influence away from you._

“Good… wait a moment.  Do you think you’re protecting me?”

She just smiled.

“I’m perfectly capable of handling HK, you know,” he said.

“Perhaps.  But I’m fully entitled to my thoughts.  So either you acknowledge that I’m protecting you by taking him away from you, or you change your mind and keep him.”

He smiled at her in return.  “But I thought you wanted him away from me?”

“It appears we are at an impasse, aren’t we?”

“You just can’t let me be the noble hero protecting his lady love, can you?”

“Did I refuse your help just now with the rancors?  Because I could have sworn you just saved me from a gruesome death.  But who says the lady love can’t return the favor?”

He sighed.  “Okay, fine, by taking HK-47 you are protecting me from his malign influence.”

She slipped into his arms.  “Now was that so hard?”


	9. Pilot – Traffic – Reflection – Departure

Though it had been only a week or two, subjectively it felt as if it had been forever since last she’d seen the _Ebon Hawk_.  Mostly fond recollections of the past flooded her mind with each familiar detail that appeared.  The last few months had been some of the most stressful of her life, but with the vantage of looking back now after the ultimate success, she felt nothing but nostalgia for all that had passed within these familiar corridors.

T3-M4 was in his usual spot in the mid-deck, plugged into the main interface into the ship’s systems, and chirped a cheerful greeting when it saw her as she and Enosh entered.  “Hello, T3,” she said as she passed by, patting the droid on the head.

HK-47 was off in a corner, his eyes glowing red.  “Disgusted grumble:  How patronizing!”

Enosh stopped and looked at the droid.  “HK, is this any way to treat your new master?”

“Innocent query:  Is there any other way?”

She sighed to herself.  _So much for the fond memories!  This is not going to be easy_.

“Abject supplication,” the droid continued.  “ _Please_ , Master!  Do not consign me to the service of this one!”

“She has a name, HK.  She means more to me than anything else in this universe, and I wish you to treat her accordingly.”

Feeling the beginnings of a flush cross her face, she glanced at Enosh.  He stared at HK-47 with that all-too-familiar look of intense concentration on his face.  Not passionate... but focused.  From conquering the Mandalorians to dealing with a recalcitrant droid, his approach was one and the same.  Very few were the problems that did not yield before his undivided attention.

“Desperate objection:  But Master!” HK-47 pleaded.  “Even though the prospect of mocking Jedi never fails to amuse me, that alone cannot compensate for the unending _inanity_ of Jedi admonishments I am certain to receive in her service!”

“Nevertheless, HK.  I wish you to serve and protect her as you would me.”

“Resigned acceptance:  Very well, Master.”  The droid turned to her with an almost visible slump in his shoulders.  “Statement:  HK-47 unit, reporting for service…Master.”  An electronic sigh rattled through his vocabulator.  “Cheerful introduction:  My series has the latest of technologies sure to please the most discerning of---“

“Yes, thank you, HK,” she replied.  “You can skip the standard introduction; I’ve already heard it.”

“Exclamation:  What a relief!  Someday I hope to finally track down those responsible for programming such a degrading introductory module into my core algorithms and provide them with a sample demonstration of my efficacy.”

* * *

He led her down the corridor to the cockpit.  The well-lit mid-deck slowly receded behind them as they plunged into the dark hallway, dimly lit by only running lights along the floor.  Her eyes re-adjusted back to the darkness, and she saw the softly blinking lights of the cockpit beckoning as they entered.

Within the bright glow of the console instrumentation and displays, all appeared as it had before, and she quickly and easily took her familiar spot in the co-pilot seat while Enosh took over the controls.

Enosh’s face was bathed in a medley of colors, as he quickly ran through the pre-flight checklist.

He sensed her attention.  “There’s no one else aboard... just me and HK.”

“I was wondering why Carth hadn’t showed up yet to shoo you out of his seat,” she said with a grin.  “When did you learn how to fly?”

He stopped the rundown to look at her with an amused glance.  “You seem surprised.  What, did you think  I spent all that time sitting behind you in here because I couldn’t stop staring at you?  Well, I picked up a few things from watching you and Carth handle the ship... in between the staring, of course.”

She laughed.

“Besides,” he continued, turning his attention back to the controls, “I fly swoop bikes all the time.  It’s the same principle.  Or have you already forgotten who won the last Taris championship and rescued a certain Jedi Sentinel at the same time?”

“Rescued?  The Jedi Sentinel who stopped Brejik from gutting her _would-be_ rescuer?”

He laughed.  “Did I ever thank you for that?”

“Not that I recall.”

“That’s because I’m still waiting for a certain someone to say thanks.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Yes, and it’s been a pretty long wait.”

“Well, it’s good you’ve been getting all that practice waiting, because it’s going to be even longer now.”

He laughed.  “Is everything clear over there?”

She’d been running through the systems on her own.  “Yes, though all my displays don’t appear to be set up like they used to be.”

“My fault.  Carth needed a co-pilot after _Leviathan_ , and we both thought it would be a good way for me to learn more about flying the big ships.”

A brief wave of disorientation swept over her, and suddenly she seemed to be looking at her panels through other eyes.  Enosh’s eyes.

Terrible regret.  Longing.  A tightly controlled mourning.  Touching the keys, looking at the displays.  Her displays.

And then the sensation was gone, as Enosh realized his thoughts had bled over to her.  “Here we go,” he said firmly, a little too strongly.

_I’m not the only one who still hasn’t gotten used to this._

And as he pushed forward on the throttle, the _Ebon Hawk_ quietly and smoothly lifted off from the Temple.

Still unsettled by the depths of the feelings she’d glimpsed, she forced herself to plunge into the routine.  As she did during every liftoff, she cycled through the exterior cameras to monitor the ascent.

The last camera screen that appeared in her monitor showed the door leading down into the Temple. Not ten paces from that door lay the unmoving corpse of a rancor felled by the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s blasters.

_That close. Death was that close, this time.  A few seconds later, a few steps more, and I would have joined those rancors lying so still beneath the moons’ light tonight._

Timing.  So much of her life seemed to hinge on these moments, with disaster and salvation separated by the merest slivers of time.

Mere days after the last of the Jedi separatists had departed for the Mandalorian Wars, the ever-elusive promise of her Force sensitivity had finally blossomed, in the quite unexpected form of the Battle Meditation which arose in so very few.  Those who had quietly recruited among the ranks of students on Dantooine to join Revan had dismissed her as a green apprentice, whose hostility toward their cause was not worth the bother of overcoming for so little of apparent value; would they have tried harder knowing she held the key to entire battles in her young hands?  And had she succumbed and gone... would things have changed for the better?  Or the worse?

If Malak had betrayed his Master a few moments earlier, Revan may very have been slain and all would have been lost.  Had he attacked later, she may very well have been dead by then, fallen before Darth Revan’s lightsaber.

And the question that tortured her from the hidden recesses of her mind... what if Malak had arrived at the _Leviathan_ just a few minutes later?  Or they had escaped just a few minutes earlier?  The nightmare of the past few days would never have happened.  The fall that had consumed her would never have occurred.

_The blood that I see, when I look at myself in the mirror... would not be there.  The cries that will haunt me forever, the ships whose wreckage will float  for an eternity around Lehon, the bodies that will forever sleep in the eternity of space... would not be there.  The promise of all those lives lost around the Star Forge, extinguished before they could shine... the shadows of those never-to-be-seen lights would not lie so heavily upon me._

_A few minutes.  Just a few minutes, and none of this would have happened!  The Force has granted so much to me before.. why not a few minutes more?_

The bile rose in her throat, and she had to make a conscious effort to not clench her jaw at its touch.

Something stirred in the monitor, breaking her drifting thoughts and returning her attention to the present.  The door into the Temple opened inward, pushed in by the force of the air from the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s repulsorlifts.

_This can’t be happening!  That door was stuck fast!_

And then, something stirred within the dimly lit shadows of the doorway. She saw a flicker of long brown hair blowing in the wind, a pale face staring from the dark depths within, staring up at the departing _Ebon Hawk_ , staring into the camera.

Staring at her, through the viewscreen, with cool gray eyes.

“Impossible,” she murmured, her eyes locked onto the shadowy pixels, the fingers of her left hand racing across the console keypad to zoom the camera into the doorway.

“What?”

As if the outside voice intruded upon the impossibility of what she had seen, those shadows suddenly resolved themselves into a swirling gust of wind, and the electronic chaos of the magnification algorithms.

“I must have been imagining things,” she said finally to Enosh’s question. But the door was now open, where it hadn't been before.

* * *

Out her window, she saw the lights of the Republic base glide gently by down below.  She checked the altimeter; they were still climbing.

“We’re not headed back to base?”

“It seems such a waste to throw away tonight,” he said casually.  “It’s so beautiful outside.”

She smiled to herself.  “Don’t you need your sleep?”

He shrugged.  Putting the _Ebon Hawk_ on cruise, he leaned back in his chair and looked at her over the center console that lay between them.  “This is about as empty as the _Hawk_ has ever been,” he said.  “It’s privacy, of a sort.”

“And what exactly do you propose to do with our newfound privacy, sir Knight?”

He chuckled.  “Oh, I don’t know.  Perhaps I’ll read up on the maintenance procedures for this ship, or try and find that credit chip Mission accidentally rolled under one of the consoles in here.”

She smiled at his grin.

His eyes turned serious as he looked at her.  “Or maybe something else I’ve been meaning to do for a long time...”

The comm crackled to life as he started to rise out of his chair.

“It’s a conspiracy,” Enosh muttered, as he flipped the comm receiver on.

“ _Ebon Hawk_.  _Ebon Hawk_.  This is traffic control.  What is your flight clearance number?”

“Flight clearance number?”

“ _Ebon Hawk_ , you didn’t file a flight clearance plan with traffic control?”  She smiled to hear the incredulous voice at the other end.  “This is restricted airspace—you must file a flight plan before entering!”

Enosh looked sheepishly at Bastila.  “I guess there’s more to flying than just learning how to turn on the engines, isn’t there?” he asked her in a low voice.  “Uh—sorry traffic control, I didn’t know.”

Bastila looked out at the tranquil night.  Sure enough, she could see the glittering lights of other spacecraft slowly rise from the treetops below, and descend from the starry firmament above.

“You’re a pilot and you didn’t know?!  Who is this?  What’s your ID and rank?”

“Uh, this is Revan.  I don’t know my ID, but I believe I’m a general.”

She shook her head.  Savior of the Republic he may have been—but still so innocent and disarming in so many ways.

“General Revan?”  The tone of over-worked exasperation disappeared instantaneously from the flight controller’s voice.  “Sir!  I didn’t know.”

“Quite all right—I didn’t know myself.  My apologies.”

“Sir, do you need an escort?”

“No, no—I think I’m doing okay so far.  But thanks.”

“That’s his way of trying to get you to leave the airspace around here,” she whispered to him, smiling.  She activated her own comm.  “Controller, this is Commander Shan.  We apologize; the flight was rather hastily arranged for a time-critical issue.  Can you give us the nearest vector leaving central section?”

“Yes, Commander.”  He sounded relieved to finally be talking to someone who knew what she was talking about.  “I can route you out to unrestricted airspace just south of here; upload on channel C.  Watch your clearances; we’ve got a lot of traffic.”

“Will do.  Thanks, Controller.”  She cut off the mike and brought the flight path up on both of their console displays. The green line of their path wove circuitously through the sector, weaving through the forest of green dots which marked the other craft in the region.  She zoomed in more closely on the immediate vicinity of their ship.

“Watch that climb coming up,” she said, looking out the front at the blinking lights of a descending shuttlecraft just ahead of them.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” he said.

A flash of annoyance crossed her thoughts.  _Stubborn as always.  So confident in his own abilities._

_I wouldn’t have it any other way._

She glanced at him across the center console.  His face was a study in concentration, as he glanced at the myriad of displays arrayed before him, guiding the ship carefully along their designated corridor.

_Revan.  Everyone calls him Revan now.  It’s as it should be.  That is who he is._

_But he will always be Enosh Polo to me._

_So worried about revealing his true identity through our nascent bond, I deceived myself too well.  The name Revan still is clumsy to my lips, a stumbling block in my thoughts.  At some point, I will need to reconcile the two personas into one._

_But not yet.  Not yet._

_Lying there, near death, amid all the carnage and destruction of that battlecruiser—I saw the man he was—the hero he should have been, had the Mandalorian Wars not intervened—and admired the inner strength, the latent compassion, even as I mourned its passing._

_And when you came back as innocent Enosh, and everything I had seen returned, without the darkness of war tingeing the whole, how could I not find myself entangled even further?_

_The Masters did the work.  They wiped his memories clean, as clean as they could, and instilled this new persona in its place._

_A new persona, but more a repair than a replacement.  The Masters took what was already there, pared away what had gotten diseased, corrupted, pruning those dead, malignant growths, to try and rejuvenate what had always lay hidden underneath._

_But I was there as well.  I held him in my arms as it happened.  I held the spark within him, when it would have fled before the—the violation that was forced upon it.  I saw what happened—how could I not?_

But I also helped create the Enosh that emerged.  As his mind reacted to the cuts, the Masters’ powers flowed to fill those gaps.  And as I, through our bond, also reacted, I influenced the flow, the energies, the shape and direction of that creation.

_Were they aware of what I’d done?  They must have been.  But what could they have done about it?  Already I was inextricably linked to him, in the best position to influence the process._

_And so I did, subconsciously instilling upon him my own ideals, my own desires, my own aspirations, about whom he should be.  Before our bond inevitably frayed, torn asunder by the same powers which had formed him._

_And so I thought I was free.  I thought I had escaped a trap of my own making._

_But it wasn’t to be.  The memories of that link were in the both of our minds, and were so readily able to reconstitute._

_So if he drives me crazy, or touches me in ways no one else ever has or ever could—it is my own doing._

_I tried to resist.  I tried.  But did I ever have a chance, fighting against myself?_

* * *

She looked into the mirror.

The woman who looked back had seen better days.

Her solid black Sith robes were torn.  Blood soaked the entire right side, flowing down from the wreck that had once been her right shoulder.  Her right arm hung limply by her side.  Thin rivers of blood traced the lines of her face, and matted her dark brown hair, seeping from an angry scar across her forehead.

_That doesn’t look right._

She looked away from the mirror, down at herself.  She was wearing her Jedi robes, but they were torn and shredded.  Her right arm ached, and the white bandage hunched over her right shoulder was marred by a dark crimson spot, soaking from within.

She looked back, at the disheveled Sith woman in the mirror.

With her left hand, she carefully touched the surface of the mirror.

A dark-clothed, trembling hand rose in the reflection.

The glass was frigid to the tips of her fingertips as she brushed them along the surface.

Suddenly, the pale reflection of her left hand reached out of the glass and grabbed her hand in an icy cold grip.

_No!_

Panicking she pulled.  And her reflection pulled as well, all the harder.

Relentlessly, she was pulled toward the reflection.  _No!_

Her reflection struggled mightily.  “No!  You cannot escape me!”

_Who?  Who said that?!_

Crazily, the muscles on her face stretched into a terrible grin, and the face in the mirror grinned, as the eyes shone.

“I am your Master,” the cold voice said.  The lips of her reflection moved, but she felt her own mouth moving as well, and the voice she heard was her own.  “You think the nightmare has passed, and you are in control, but yet again you deceive yourself.  I am your Master.

“I am you Master.”

* * *

“Master?  Master?”

She saw HK-47 above her, his cold, metallic hands tugging at her left hand.  The background behind the droid resolved itself into the familiar environs of the starboard dormitory of the _Ebon Hawk_.

_I must have fallen asleep!  How did I get here?_

“Explanation,” the droid said, releasing his grip.  “You could not be roused by less tactile methods.  Suggestion:  Consult with medical professionals to inspect your ears for damage.”

“I am not hard of hearing,” she said, rising to a sitting position from her bunk bed.  _It must have been lack of sleep.  Or these vivid dreams I’ve been having lately?_   “What is it?”

“Explanation:  We have docked with the _Fury_ and need to disembark quickly, Master.”

_The Fury.  Dodonna’s flagship.  Enosh.  He must have put me here, then taken us up to the fleet.  Why didn’t he wake me?_

She looked about her, and noticed that all her meager possessions were gone.

Looking back at her, the droid departed, and she felt herself tugged onward by the droid’s obvious sense of urgency.

* * *

The mid-deck was a picture of industrious purpose.  Numerous people milled about, carrying things off ship, loading things on, and fiddling with various consoles and maintenance panels.

A young man looked up from a datapad he was holding and saw her.  “Ah, Commander Shan.  We’ve already got all of your personal effects offloaded.  We’re ready for you to disembark.”

She nodded silently.

_It’s not fair!  For months he tortured me with his mere presence.  And now that Malak is no more, and the Republic is saved; now that my worst fears have been proven unfounded, indeed misguided... I only had a few hours.  A few hours, before I am whisked away from his side, and the emptiness that I had ignored for so long returns so quickly again, when I thought it banished._

She saw Enosh emerge from the corridor leading to the cockpit, and grabbed his eyes from across the crowded room.  “Why didn’t you...?!”

Weaving his way deftly through the throng, he made his way to her and engulfed her within his arms.

Her anger melted away at his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “You looked so tired when you drifted to sleep, I let you be.  And then the base called back; apparently you caused quite a stir by suddenly disappearing from your hospital room like that.”

She started, suddenly recalling her abrupt departure.

He grinned at her discomfort.  “I offered to take you directly to the _Fury_.  They had to juggle schedules to do it, but here we are, wedged into their tight schedule.  So I think you’ll understand that we don’t have a lot of time left.”

“Don’t say it that way,” she said.

He grinned, then turned serious.  “Take care of yourself.  I need you to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself.”

His grip around her was firm, and she found herself instinctively holding her breath, caught within the unwavering focus of his attention.

“Promise me,” he repeated.

“Of... of course,” she whispered.

He stared deeply into her eyes, as if evaluating her, then smiled slightly.

Blinking, she suddenly realized where they were.  Looking around hastily, she noticed a few amused faces looking at them.

“Everyone’s looking,” she whispered, instinctively trying to avert her eyes.

“Have I ever mentioned how cute you are when you’re embarrassed?”

“It does me wonders to know you’re enjoying this,” she replied, wondering how red her face must be by now.  “Stop joking around,” she said, slapping his side a little with her hand.

“You’re right,” he said, and she felt his grip loosen a little.  “I hate to waste everyone’s time like this—so I guess we’d better give them a show worth watching.”

And before she could do anything but gasp, he bent down and kissed her.

The embarrassment of her present, the anxious uncertainty of her future, the echoing turmoil of her past—all of it floated away, set adrift like detritus by the incoming tide.  The only thing she cared about, the only thing that mattered, was that they were together, here and now.

* * *

Slowly, the freighter that she had called ‘home’ for the past few months lifted quietly off the deck of the landing bay.

She blinked against the onrush of air blown out by the repulsorlifts, her eyes locked on the cockpit and the figure she could faintly see through the glass.

“Nice and easy,” she heard Carth say beside her.  “Nice and easy, Revan.  Take good care of her, and she won’t let you down.”

She glanced sharply at him, but quickly realized he was talking about the ship.

As the _Ebon Hawk_ slowly backed out, she seemed drawn forward, as if attached by an invisible string to the hulking freighter.  Her entire world fell away, until it seemed as if only she and the _Hawk_ existed.  She tentatively raised her arm, and could feel a response from Enosh.

A sudden, terrible vision struck her.  Worlds across Republic space on fire, blazing beneath the scything rain of orbital bombardment.  Death and destruction everywhere; so many voices crying out in fear, in terror.  And an emptiness amid the despair.  A terrible, heart-wrenching emptiness in her heart, where there should have been warmth and love.

_I’ll never see him again!  I’ll never see him again!_

Her heart racing, her breath vanished, and she felt something tugging her forward, as if to follow the _Hawk_ out into the darkness of space.

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

“Bastila?”  _Juhani._

The contact, the words, broke the terrible sensation that had overcome her.  Blinking away the sudden tears of anguish that had threatened to well forth, she sighed.

“Are you okay, Bastila?” the Cathar asked, concern in her eyes.

“A… a momentary mood,” she replied, trying to smile.  She looked at the _Ebon Hawk_ , now only a bright star among the other stars shining steadily outside.

 


	10. Awakening – Bond

She awoke to the sound of air softly whispering in the stillness of the dark.

Adrift in the unresponsive universe of her senses, escaping from the wispy tendrils of uncertain dreams, her consciousness struggled to find order.  Or, failing that, enforce order, upon the transience fleeing before her.

The low hum of machines, and the sterile smell of a spacecraft, registered in her mind.

_Father?  Are we going home now?_

But no... an image of his ghostly form, shimmering before her eyes, coalesced, rising from the battered holocron she grasped too tightly in her hands.  Echoes of ache stirred in her heart, the pain still fresh, still sharp in its bite.

The ghost of the little girl within faded away, taking with her the bitter longing and leaving a dull, but familiar, emptiness behind.

More memories returned.  She shifted, expecting to feel the close confines of her bunk, the soft snoring of Mission above her.

But this was not the _Ebon Hawk_ , either.  The walls were farther away, the sounds of the darkness damped.

Two yellow blades lit the darkness, sweeping to smash against a scarlet blade.  The three blades came together in a powerful burst of light and sound... and then there were three red blades gleaming in the night.

She opened her eyes, and saw unfamiliar shadows around her.

_The Fury.  I’m aboard the Fury.  Admiral Dodonna’s flagship.  We’re headed to Coruscant, to the Jedi High Council.  And my new Master._

Instinctively, she reached out with a hand, to touch the dimly glowing light contact on the wall next to her.

Her hand did not respond.  She felt the constricting tightness of her right arm, and the ghost of an ache traced its fiery fingers along her shoulder.

Sighing, she tenderly reached across her body with her left hand, brushing against the green contact.

Soft white lights, upturned to strike obliquely against the ceiling, came to life.

It was a spacious room, definitely an extravagance aboard a warship.  And so it had been put to good use on the way out to the Star Forge, with a bewildering array of crates and containers stacked all around her, like trees reaching their bulky fingers up from the gloomy depths toward the soft, scattered light above.  A winding path snaking its way through the clutter was the only concession to the needs of the occupant.

“They tell me they’ll clear it soon,” Juhani had said, as Bastila had opened the door to the room after the  Cathar had led the two of them to their quarters shortly after the _Ebon Hawk_ had departed.

“No.  Please, don’t even offer,” she’d replied back quietly, stepping through the doorway before the Cathar could make the suggestion that they switch rooms.  The last thing she’d needed was anyone sacrificing anything for her sake.   Adding more guilt to a scale she was loathe to even ponder.

Sleep had quickly overtaken her, once she’d lay upon the bed.  The price for her endeavors of the previous night had not yet been paid.

_And what of the price of my deeds from before that?_ she wondered.  _How long will that debit last on my soul?_

* * *

Outside her room was a short hallway.  Along one long side were two doors that led to her room and Juhani’s.  Their rooms were in a secluded part of the warship, offering that most valuable of luxuries in space... privacy.  The opposite side of the hall was filled by a large window that stretched along the entire width of the hallway, and from ceiling to floor.

And there, hanging in the vast solitude of space, was the half-lit disc of Lehon, slowly but visibly receding as the _Fury_ and her attendant fleet made their way out of the gravity well of the planet.

She reached up with her hand and gently pressed a control panel faintly etched onto the surface of the glass.  It flared briefly in response, and the hallway lights dimmed gradually to nothing, leaving the corridor to be lit only by the faint light reflected from far-off Lehon.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Lehon glowed even more brightly before her.  It was breath-taking in its beauty, filling up the entire window.  In that brightly-lit arc she could see the crystal blue waters of its massive, world-spanning oceans, laced here and there by strings of green islands swimming in the brilliant seas.  One distant Republic cruiser was silhouetted in front of the planet, running lights faintly twinkling as it silently glided by.

Images drifted before her, of other times, now long distant, and other worlds.  She was a little girl again, staring with eager eyes through the scratched cockpit screen of her father’s spacecraft, fascinated by each and every new world that lay before them, vast and enormous, silent and imponderable.

The echoes of the simple joys of that younger self came back to her, upon seeing those new worlds for the first time.  The feeling of reconnection, of reorientation, of return, after days spent in the eerie, lonely world of hyperspace.  A universe that had gradually shrunk down to the few cluttered, crowded rooms of her father’s ship, suddenly exploded into the vast, unknown frontiers of those planets.

Strange, how she’d always greeted each new destination with renewed hope and optimism, despite the unending streak of disappointments that had inevitably followed all their past arrivals.

* * *

As that distant Republic cruiser finally crawled its way off the disc of the planet, she saw a large archipelago slowly rotate into view on Lehon’s surface.  Immediately, she recognized it, having stared at it with burning eyes when she’d fled from her encounter with Enosh and the others, atop the ancient Temple.

And along with that accursed Temple, the villages of the Rakatans lay on that island chain.  And Enosh.

She closed her eyes and looked inward.

_There_.  She could feel their bond, and his presence, faintly, despite the hundreds of thousands of klicks that separated them.

She pushed herself forward, trying to channel her consciousness through their bond, and jump across the immeasurable gap between them.

_This is ridiculous.  If I couldn’t even convey more than the broadest of emotions when we were both on the surface, when I was fighting for my life last night, how can I realistically hope to do anything more now?_

But her whole life had been spent attempting the impossible.  Chasing the most negligible of rumors across the Galaxy with her father, in an ultimately vain attempt to reverse their fortunes.  Struggling to realize the potential of her powers on Dantooine.  Cheating death in the impossibly daring, improbably successful raid on Darth Revan’s flagship, and escaping without even so much as a broken fingernail, when so many, including her Master Lonarr and her friend Elywnn, had failed to return.  Escaping the destruction of the _Endar Spire_ , the captivity of Brejik, the destruction of Taris.  Plucked from the very center of the darkness in the Galaxy, the Star Forge.

And even as she reflected on the improbability of her life’s path, the tiny spark that was their bond within her thoughts suddenly bloomed to completely engulf her.

A misty image formed before her.  An opening in the thick underbrush and jungle.  Deep blue skies above, stretching to eternity.  Wild, chaotic, teeming life below, trees gently waving in a soft, unfelt breeze.

There was a flash of blue lightning, and she saw Mission streak out ahead into the clearing, laughing gaily as she chased her pet gizka into the underbrush.

There was a rumble, and the viewpoint suddenly shifted to the side.  There, looming high above her, stood Zaalbar, his fierce visage softening, eyes warm, as he watched Mission ahead.

And then the sensation of tranquility, of simple, peaceful companionship, was suddenly overtaken by a feeling of tender warmth, of hope and happiness as it dawned upon his consciousness.

_And now he senses me, as well._

She felt herself reach out with a hand, and his own grasped her fingers tenderly.  His presence wrapped itself around her, soft fingers tracing themselves all about her.  At first tentatively, oh so carefully, and then, finally, firmly, folding, intertwining, her within himself.

She wanted to cry, to feel him so close.  She could feel him, forcing his way through the tangle of worries dogging her.  The doubts, the guilt, the shame, the self-loathing unraveled from about her, and suddenly she felt free, a child once more, innocent before the world, the sun shining again upon a future still before her, a story still to be written.

_This is what I have denied myself for so long?  This is what I pushed away, what I strove to deny, eventually even to destroy?_

_Never again.  Never again will I believe that something so beautiful as this, could ever be wrong._

Even as the thought crossed through her mind, she felt everything suddenly, forcefully ripped away from her.  Gasping aloud at the sudden, abrupt emptiness, tears squeezing out of her clenched eyes, she stumbled.

She blinked, brushing the moisture away, her breath ragged in her ears.  Through the window before her lay the blurry, streaking streamlines of hyperspace.  Lehon was gone.

* * *

For a long time she stood there, looking with unseeing eyes into the emptiness of hyperspace.  She immersed herself in the aftermath of what she’d just experienced through their bond,  by turns feeling both the wondrous joy of connection and the painful ache of separation.

The sound of a door sliding open behind her jarred her.

Turning, she saw Juhani emerge, backlit by the bright lights still on in her room.

Apparently in a hurry, the Cathar shut the door behind her, then stopped abruptly as her eyes, glowing within the dimness of the hallway, spotted her.

“Is something the matter, Juhani?” Bastila asked, sensing urgency about the Cathar.

“What happened to your comlink?” Juhani asked.

Reflexively, she patted her belt, feeling the empty spot where it should have been.  “I lost it somewhere down on Lehon,” she replied.  “Why?”

“I just got a call.  They were trying to get a hold of you but couldn’t reach you.”

“They?  Who’s they?”

“Intelligence.  They want you to come in for a debriefing.”


	11. Company – Zeftak – Succession

_What?  The military has no jurisdiction over the Jedi!  We take care of our own!_

The younger version of herself would have voiced that indignant thought aloud, in no uncertain terms.

But that younger self had had all the assured self-confidence in the Galaxy, and then maybe a little bit more.  She would immediately have stormed off to see exactly who had had the temerity to encroach upon the sacred, centuries-old special rights of the Jedi within the Republic by making such a suggestion.

And though she felt the stir of anger within her, it was but a muted whisper compared to the hurricane it might have been only a week or two ago.

_What have I lost?  And should I be happy or sad at its absence?_

Finding herself perched precariously above an enticing pit of self-pity, she held steady, and calmly rationalized the situation to herself.

_After the Star Forge... after all the death and destruction of the past five years... we Jedi must walk carefully now.  Directly and indirectly, the Republic has suffered much at our hands.  The High Council must have recognized this, and must have acceded to requests... demands... concerning changes in our role within the Republic.  Starting with the security arrangements for my journey to Coruscant, perhaps?_

_I may not be a prisoner aboard this ship, but neither will I be free to do as I please._

She looked at Juhani, who was studying her with characteristic inscrutability in the dimly lit hallway.

_And what of you, Juhani?  Are you my guardian?  Guard?  Companion?  Perhaps all at once?_

She brushed her fingers against the control panel, bringing the lights back up in the hallway.

“May I borrow your comlink?”

* * *

The corridors of the _Fury_ were mostly empty, as she made her way to the conference room where the interrogator awaited her.  The few persons she passed by were absorbed in post-jump duties, monitoring systems to ensure no problems developed.

She turned a corner and spotted HK-47 down the otherwise empty passageway, approaching her.

He’d wandered off shortly after they’d disembarked from the _Ebon Hawk_ , and she’d been too tired to care, and too willing to completely drop him from her mind.  So his sudden appearance was a most unwelcome reminder of his presence.

She paused, briefly considering turning around back the way she had come.  But it was too late; the droid’s eyes seemed to light up as he saw her.

Resuming her stride, she approached him.  _I’m not a little girl anymore.  I can’t run away from my problems._

“Inquiry:  Where are you headed, Master?” he asked as she reached him.

“A debriefing with intelligence,” she answered, passing by without stopping.

The droid turned around and followed her.  “Inquiry:  May I join you?” he asked as he strode next to her.  “I am curious to see what interrogation techniques are currently in use in the Republic military.”

“Techniques?  I hardly think this will be a confrontational meeting.”  _Unlike the current one!_

“Optimism:  One can always hope for the best, can’t one?”

“I thought you were supposed to be ‘safe-guarding’ me?”

“Response:  I can multitask.”

She sighed.  _Arguing with a droid, especially this one, is pointless!_   “I don’t think that will be necessary, HK.”

“Acceptance:  As you wish, Master.”  And with that, the droid stopped.

_Good riddance_ , she thought to herself.

“In that case, I shall continue with my other tasks.”

“Yes, very good... wait, what?”  She stopped, turning to face the droid.  “Other tasks?  What other tasks?”

“Explanation:  As per standard HK protocol, I am scouting out this vessel, imprinting its layout in my memory banks.”

“Ah.  That sounds reasonable enough.”  She turned to go.

“Continuation:  I am also probing security provisions, testing for easily exploitable vulnerabilities.  As well as searching for likely choke points, and candidate locations for ambush, blockade, enfilade fire—“

“Enfilade fire?”

“Explanation:  Positions where an enemy’s flank is exposed to your fire, but your own is not, ensuring the maximum amount of carnage and destruction with the minimum amount of exposure to—“

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of the concept.”  She sighed to herself, imagining the droid skulking about in the shadows, meticulously observing guard rotations, collating duty rosters, probing security measures and setting off random klaxons throughout the ship to test response time.  “On second thought, it might be better for you to accompany me.”

* * *

She knocked gently on the door.

“Please come in.”

She opened the door.

It was a small, sparsely furnished room.  Sitting behind the single desk on the far side of the room was a Sullustan, his attention completely absorbed by the monitor in front of him.

He glanced at her briefly as she and HK-47 entered.  “Ah, Commander Shan,” he said, his Basic only slightly accented.  Rising to his feet, he indicated the single chair across the desk from him, his eyes returning to the monitor.  “I am Lieutenant Orom Zeftak, with the Intelligence Division.  Please, be seated.”

She sat in the proffered seat, and felt HK-47 come to a stop behind her.

Seating himself, Zeftak scanned his monitor a few moments longer, typing in short bursts on his keyboard, then pushed it gently to the side.  His large, dark eyes looked at her.

She felt a little nervous, to be under the attention of those large, inscrutable eyes.  And she’d never been able to make much of Sullustan body language.

His round ears quivered slightly, and a slight smile formed on his lips, as he sensed her unease.  “I know what you’re thinking:  What are you doing as an interrogator and not a navigator?”

She smiled politely.  “No, no, I’m just a little tired still.”

“I find the mysteries people attempt to hide from me more interesting to discover than the uncharted planets many of my brethren are absorbed by,” Zeftak continued with his slight smile.  “But I’m sure this will not be an occasion for me to utilize any of the skills I have accumulated over the years.”

A slight sigh rattled through HK-47’s vocabulator.  _Why did I bring him here?_

Zeftak’s gaze turned onto HK-47.  “Are you feeling anxious about this, Commander?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” she said.  “The droid is only here to stay out of trouble elsewhere.”

The Sullustan studied HK-47 a litlte longer, then nodded.  “Very well.  With your permission, Commander, I’d like to begin.”

At her nod, he pressed a button on his desk, and a small panel on the wall behind him slid open, revealing the crystal lens of a camera.

He lifted a small mike to his lips, as the camera automatically trained its lens and focused on her.  “Subject is Commander Bastila Shan.  Human female, twenty-one standard years old.  Jedi Padawan from the former Jedi Enclave on Dantooine.”

She felt self-conscious before the cold lens of the recorder, as it silently etched her image into permanency within its digital memory banks.  She could imagine a clutch of young Jedi apprentices, gathered about a monitor, looking silently at her haunted eyes, in pitying wonderment, as their Master dryly discussed her rise and fall.  _As I once did, watching holo-vids of poor Ulic Qel-Droma._

Zeftak glanced at his monitor.  “Homeworld... Talravin?”

“Yes,” she nodded, distractedly running her hand up to comb back some hair from over her ear.

He looked at her in curiosity.  “I’ve never been; is it nice?”

“Honestly, it’s been so long I can hardly remember it,” she said.  The cold, metallic sensation of her nanny droid’s fingers as she grasped them tightly in her small hand, came and went. “Before we begin, Lieutenant,” she said, “I should like to point out that I’ve already discussed my... my fall at great length with Master Vandar, back on Lehon.  Surely, you have already obtained records of that discussion?”

“Yes, yes—he has provided us with a quite complete transcript, Commander.  Rest assured that I feel no need to go over that again.”

“Suggestion:  A recap of that previous discussion could put the subject in the proper frame of mind for further inquiries.”

“Ignore him,” she said, sparing a brief glance backward to glare at the droid.

“Of course,” Zeftak said with a slight smile.  “I happen to be interested in other matters.”

“Other matters?”

“Yes.”  He glanced at HK-47.  “I’m sure you’ll understand the need to keep this confidential, Commander?”

“Certainly.”

“I wish to focus this debrief on Korriban.”

“Korriban?”

Zeftak merely nodded in response.

“But I’ve never been to Korriban.  Commander Onasi or Commander Juhani, or even HK-47 here, could surely tell you more about Korriban than I.”

“Affirmation:  I will never tire of discussing our recent adventures on Korriban, Master.  They hold a privileged place within my memory banks, residing in my fastest memory cache for instantaneous recall.”

_They would, wouldn’t they?_ she thought, wondering just how much carnage Enosh and the others had visited upon the Sith Academy there.

“We have already asked them, as well as everyone else in Revan’s entourage, about their recent visit to Korriban,” Zeftak said.  “But you present the opportunity to reveal a... unique viewpoint on matters.”

“What about Yuthura Ban?  Revan redeemed her during his time on Korriban.”

“Unfortunately, she is not with us here, and any records the Jedi High Council may have made while questioning her are not available to us yet.

“Please, think back, Commander, painful though it may be.  Do you have any stories of Korriban, indirect though they may be?”

Tentatively, she scanned through the dark memories of the past.  “Well... well, there _is_ one...”

* * *

Impatiently, she ran through the corridors of the Temple, shoving aside anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.  And they were fortunate in that respect; had she more time, she most certainly would have lingered over a few of them for quite a bit longer.  To the detriment of their health.

She turned the corner leading to Malak’s meditation chambers only to find Shaenedra standing in front of the doors, barring the way.

She felt the bulge in her belt where Shaenedra’s blade was tucked away and smiled to herself.

“Out of my way, Shaenedra.”

“Our Dark Lord is meditating,” the woman snarled in response.  “He’s not to be interrupted.”

“My news is of the utmost import.  Stand aside.”

“Tell me, and I shall convey it to him when he is done.”

_What manner of fool do you think I am?_

Even though Shaenedra’s guard was up, Bastila easily brushed her aside, Pushing her into the wall.

She may have been in a hurry, but she would never pass up a chance to humiliate this woman.  “And to think you had aspirations to serve as our Dark Lord’s apprentice,” she scoffed at Shaenedra’s back, as she was transfixed, pinned quite firmly into the cold stones of the wall.  “Poor, poor Shaenedra,” she purred, stroking the back of the woman’s bald head.  “Relegated to door duty like some pitiful droid, and you are not even fit for that!  I really should put you out of your misery.”  Her stroke turned into a grip as she grabbed Shaenedra’s head and moved as if to smash her face into the wall.  But then she stopped and chuckled.  “But what would be the fun in that?

“Know this, Shaenedra.  I toy with you now, as you toyed with me once—but unlike you, I _will_ finish matters myself, at a time and manner of _my_ choosing.  Of that, you can be sure.”  And with a jab she cracked her elbow into the small of Shaenedra’s back, eliciting a gasp from the other woman, before dispelling her hold and letting Shaenedra’s body fall to the floor.

“You are impertinent, Bastila,” Malak hissed from his meditative pose, as she entered his meditation chamber.

She bowed deeply.  “My Lord.  Your Apprentice defers to no one but her Master.”

He rose, an approving gleam in his hard eyes.

“And my news if of the utmost importance and urgency,” she continued, as she heard Shaenedra enter from behind.  She spared a glance in the other woman’s direction, and smiled to see her favoring her back as she shuffled in, dark murder in her yellow eyes.

“I know already.  Uthar Wynn is dead and the Academy is in chaos.  Revan has become most troublesome.”

She stumbled, but caught herself quickly.  _How can he know?  All communication with Korriban has been cut off completely!_   “Indeed, most knowledgeable Master.  What shall we do?”

“Do?  _We?_ ”

The menace in his hiss was unmistakable.  Beside her, she could sense Shaenedra’s sense of satisfaction at Malak’s annoyance.

Her stomach quailed with sudden fear.  _Have I overstepped myself?_

“O, most munificent Master,” she said instead, bowing slightly to cover her unease.  _To show fear now, is to die!_   “I... I was merely concerned at the prospect of a vacuum in leadership at the Academy.”

Her head bowed most humbly, her ears strained for clues as to Malak’s level of displeasure.  When nothing was forthcoming for a while, she stole a glance up.

He was staring at her in deep thought.  “Who is Wynn’s second in command?” he hissed.

“That would be Yuthura Ban, Master,” Shaenedra interjected before Bastila could reply.  “I know her well; she will soon have things under control.”

Shaenedra grinned at Bastila.

“Ban has fled and thrown herself at the mercy of the Jedi Council,” Bastila replied, returning the grin.

Shaenedra’s smirk faltered, even as Malak silently hissed.

“Your sources...?”

She dismissed Shaenedra with a snap of her eyes.  “Are not compromised yet, Master,” she said.  No doubt, Revan had already alerted the Council to her capture, but she had been careful to appear dead to their networks, even as she had carefully, passively worked her contacts and dug up information.

He looked at her.  “Good work,” he hissed.

She nodded humbly, taking the opportunity to throw a smirk at the silently fuming Shaenedra.  _You will quickly learn that you are outclassed, my dear_ , she silently thought to herself.  “Master,” she continued, “if I may be so bold as to suggest something...?”

“Yes?” he inquired cautiously.

“I think Shaenedra here would be most fit to replace Wynn as head of the Academy,” she said.

Shaenedra gaped next to her, taken by surprise.

Bastila pressed on quickly before Shaenedra could interject.  “The rabble on Korriban need a strong hand to discipline them, and ensure that what happened with Revan never occurs again,” she explained.  “You have far too much to deal with here, and with Revan.  I, of course, am still far too new to be given such awesome responsibility.”  She almost laughed to herself at the ridiculousness of that statement.  _Awesome responsibility... babysitting a gaggle of stupid students!  Culling through that crop of imbeciles could only be entertaining for a while._ “So Shaenedra is the obvious choice to handle such a critical role.”  She turned to look at the bald woman.  “Are you up to this, Shaenedra?” she inquired in a pleasant voice.

Caught flat-footed, realizing she’d been nimbly out-maneuvered, Shaenedra glared darkly at Bastila’s expressionless face, and replied with the only answer that she could give.  “Of course I could—“

“Then that is settled, isn’t it, my Lord?” she smoothly cut in, turning her attention back to Malak.  _And the further away you are from Malak, my dearest Shaenedra, the weaker and more isolated you are.  Enjoy your time wrangling with those idiots, while I gather up true power, here by Malak’s side!_

“You overstep yourself, Bastila,” he hissed, but without the dark menace of earlier.

She nodded deferentially.  “Merely a suggestion, Master,” she said.  “Of course I would not dare to _ever_ presume for myself any decision that is rightfully yours.”  _Not yet, but soon.  Soon._

Mollified, Malak looked at Shaenedra thoughtfully.

* * *

“Is that it?” Zeftak asked, when Bastila’s story came to an end.

She just nodded, momentarily speechless, as the sensations of that time came back to her.  She could feel the malignancy within her, the echoes of her hate, still recent, still awake, responding to the words with which she’d resurrected that time, those events.  Despite the warmth of the small room, she shivered, clamping down on the uneasy stirrings within.

Zeftak was typing on his keyboard.  “Shaenedra.  Shaenedra.  Let’s see... Shaenedra Narras, former Jedi Padawan from the Coruscant Academy?”

He pushed the monitor around so she could see the picture he’d called forth from a database.

Long braids of hair of the most delicate yellow color were draped around a soft, innocent face and crystal blue eyes, staring with resolute determination into the recorder.  Quite a difference from the sallow face, the pinched gray skin, the gleaming yellow eyes in sunken sockets, which she’d remembered.  But the lines of Shaenedra’s hard face were there, hidden beneath the smooth planes of the past Padawan.

“Yes, that’s her.”  Strange... the eyes in that picture seemed to be staring at her.

Zeftak pulled the monitor around again.  “Left her Master eight years ago, to join Revan and Malak’s forces to fight the Mandalorians,” he read.  “Like so many of her associates.”

“Yes.”  _Where there should have been older mentors to the younger students like us, there were only gaps.  Friendships ruined.  And bitter Masters, bereft of the students they’d worked with for so long._

“And did this Shaenedra end up succeeding Uthar Wynn?” Zeftak asked.

“No,” she replied.  “Malak ultimately decided that he would let the succession on Korriban be the final graduation exercise for whoever was skilled enough, lucky enough, and brutal enough to overcome his or her rivals.  She was on the Star Forge, when Revan defeated Darth Malak.”

* * *

As they started back to her quarters, Bastila noticed from the corner of her eyes that HK-47 was staring at her.

_I don’t have time for more of his games_ , she thought to herself, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him.

With single-minded focus, she made her way through the still relatively empty corridors, the droid silently following in her wake.  But she could feel that unacknowledged, undivided, uncharacteristic attention from the droid like a targeting laser on her back.

Finally, she could take no more of it.  “Is something wrong, HK?” she asked, after they’d entered a turbolift.

“Distracted explanation:  Master, I... I am at a temporary loss for words.”

That was good enough to satisfy Bastila’s limited curiosity about the droid’s well-being, but HK-47 continued on.

“All this time, I was unaware of just how much potential you have.  Your story... reveals so much duplicitous scheming, unexpected cruelty, viciousness, and outright vindictive rapaciousness that I am.. I am most humbled to be in your service, Master, your temporary affliction notwithstanding.”

“Nothing _temporary_ about it,” she replied briskly.

“Acknowledgment:  As you wish, Master.”

“And it’s _not_ an affliction,” she added quickly.

“Acknowledgment:  As you wish, Master.”

Bastila wasn’t sure she liked a fawning HK-47 any better than the previous version.


	12. Lightsaber – Repair work – A gift

“You’re sure about this?” Juhani asked again.

Bastila nodded, even as her left hand instinctively, unconsciously, moved reflexively down her left side to reassuringly touch the hilt.

And it still was disconcerting, as keenly jarring now as the first time it had happened, when that hand felt nothing.  For that hilt now hung so unfamiliarly on the right side of her belt, all the easier to draw quickly and smoothly across her body with her left hand.

Only now, living with the workarounds required of her by the stubborn injuries which responded to neither Force nor kolto, did she realize just how frequently her left hand unconsciously sought the reassuring touch of her lightsaber hilt.  Especially under moments of stress or anxiety, she found her left hand vainly clutching air by her side.

She unhooked her lightsaber, clenched her teeth, and quietly handed it over to the Cathar.

Accepting it with both hands, Juhani carefully placed it onto the table in front of her.

Bastila forced her hand to stay down by her side, watching intently over the Cathar’s shoulder as Juhani worked the unfamiliar contacts and clasps.  They’d gone over the procedures verbally before, but it was all she could do to keep her mouth closed and not offer advice and direction as Juhani tentatively disassembled the lightsaber.

Each lightsaber was unique, individually crafted by its owner, and scrupulously and meticulously maintained.  Once obtained as a Padawan, it would remain by its owner’s side unto death, and oftentimes after. She knew each contour and contusion on that slim, smooth hilt by heart, could do anything with it as easily and automatically as she could breathe or walk.  It truly was an extension of her own arms, an integral part of her own self-identity.  To see another’s hands on it, fumbling unfamiliarly with the hard points, doing things in a different order, caressing the burnished surface...

The urge to raise her hand, to touch that familiar hilt, was so strong that she had to force herself to turn away, walk away, and sit in a chair.  _I’m going to sit here, and not move!_   she thought firmly to herself.  _She knows what she’s doing._

Trying to distract herself, she looked around.  Juhani’s room was an exact duplicate of Bastila’s, sans the scattered piles of cargo containers.  The Cathar had laid out a simple blanket on the floor at the foot of her bed, to serve as her meditation area.  She’d pulled down the built-in fold-up table out of the wall to serve as a makeshift workbench.  She’d unlocked the chair which normally sat directly in front of the table and moved it against the wall.  Sitting on this chair, Bastila could see Juhani’s face in profile, as the Cathar stood over the table, working on Bastila’s lightsaber.

Despite the smallness of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine, she hadn’t really known Juhani before her arrival there with Enosh and the others from Taris.  Even now, despite all their travels together over the past few weeks, she didn’t really know much about the Cathar.  They’d had a few discussions, and she’d grown to respect Juhani’s abilities in a fight.  But there’d always seemed to be a distance between them... and she couldn’t put it solely down to normal Jedi reserve.

“Why the double-blade?” Juhani asked, her eyes studying the hilt before her.

“The quarterstaff had always been one my favorites, during weapons training,” she replied.  She recalled the disbelief her sparring partners usually displayed, when first they’d faced the little girl with the long staff.  Usually quickly followed by grudging respect after she’d thumped them around a bit.  “It just seemed a natural choice, when I made Padawan.”

There’d been whispers, about how the double-blade was more suited for a Sith than a Jedi, when she’d made her choice.  She’d ignored them, of course; double wielders faced no such similar disapprobation about their choice, so why focus so on a double-blade?

_But perhaps they were right.  Perhaps there was something to it, after all..._

“So,” Juhani said, eyes intently focused on the task at hand, “how did the debriefing go?”

“Nothing extraordinary,” she replied, remembering the Lieutenant’s request for confidentiality.  “They were looking for something specific, but I don’t think I provided them much in that regard.”

The whole affair had served little purpose, save remind her of the unpleasantness of the past.  _As if I needed any more reminders!_

_Reminders..._

“I never thanked you, Juhani.”

The Cathar arched an eyebrow.

“Mission told me,” she continued.  “About what happened on the Star Forge.”

Juhani smiled slightly.  “She is always one for small talk, that little one.  It was nothing.”

“It most certainly was not.”  She’d sent bolts of lightning streaking into Juhani’s body, back at the Temple, just a few days ago.  _Still smells slightly undercooked, wouldn’t you say?_ she’d sneered at Jolee after the enraged Jedi had warded her off the unconscious Cathar.  “How were you to know where my allegiances lay at that moment?”

Juhani darted her eyes briefly in her direction, then shrugged and returned to her work.  “Revan had spared you.  That was answer enough for me.”

She remembered the throbbing pain in her shoulder, beating in time with her heart, as she knelt on that cold metal floor.  Waiting for the end.

She touched again that memory of the dejected misery of what should have been her final moments.  And with that granted perspective, she could finally find the courage to give voice to the question that had whispered shyly in her mind when first she’d seen Juhani aboard the _Fury_.

“How... how do you deal with it?”

“Hmmmm?”

The first steps taken, she couldn’t turn back now.  “The... the guilt.  The self-loathing, the unhappiness...”

Still hunched slightly over the desk, but ceasing her work, Juhani looked at her, a crooked half-grin on her lips, as Bastila’s voice trailed off.  “I thought you already knew all about that.”

She cringed inside at the wry response.  _About what I expected.  But I deserved that, I suppose_.  She thought back to their past conversations, before her fall.  _What a fool I was, offering such bland, empty, naive advice!  Oh, I knew the theory well enough.  I had all the answers to the questions she didn’t ask of me, and was not afraid to offer them to her.  And the pity I felt!  The patronizing pity of one who empathizes but does not truly understand.  And I thought myself truly ready for Knighthood?_

“That was unfair of me,” Juhani said, perhaps seeing a reaction on Bastila’s face.  “You are different now.”

Bastila said nothing, sensing something in the Cathar’s eyes, her voice, that seemed... different.  _I am not the only one venturing forth on uncertain paths here..._

“Acknowledgement,” Juahni continued, apparently in response to Bastila’s original question.  “Accept the past, instead of wishing it different.  Focus on the failings within, rather than external factors.  Only by identifying that which led you astray in the past, can you steer clear of the problems of the future.  And that is what you must focus on—the future.”

Juhani smiled slightly.  “I apologize for my long-windedness.  I do not mean to lecture, but I have given this matter a lot of thought.”

“No, no.  Please, continue,” Bastila urged, trying to draw the normally taciturn Cathar out.

“One thing more I’ve noticed,” Juhani continued.  “In the past, I would always try to rationalize problems away.  Always turn my face away from that within, which I did not like.  But no more.  I do not deceive myself like this, anymore.

“We spend so much time and energy, deceiving ourselves about our true feelings, our true motivations, when simple acceptance would serve us so much better.”  She sighed softly.  “Such a simple thought, but it has taken me so long to arrive at it.”

Juhani’s words were like an indictment, and she found herself nodding wearily inside at their sad truth.  _So much time and energy..._

Bastila was not the only one who’d taken those words to heart.  She could see a struggle playing out within the Cathar’s eyes, as if she were contemplating saying more.

“What is it, Juhani?”

The struggle resolved itself, and Juhani’s eyes hardened.

“I was jealous of you, Bastila,” she said, simply, directly.

The Cathar’s eyes, which had speared Bastila’s at this confession, suddenly faltered, unable to maintain contact.

“And when you’d fallen...” Juhani continued, her eyes now distant, “I have to admit that some small part of me... felt a sense of satisfaction that you had finally failed.  _Finally_.”  A sharp grin emerged on her face, one Bastila recognized disturbingly as wont to appear in the midst of heated battle.  “The _perfect_ young Jedi, the one always thrown up in the face of us Apprentices as an exemplar to follow, the shining contrast to Revan and Malak.  Stumbled.  Fallen.”

_Perfect?_   She wanted to laugh in incredulous disbelief that anyone would think that.  _All the anguish, all the doubts and fears that have gnawed away inside of me since this terrible war started... and that is the impression I conveyed to others?_

But any protestations she may have wanted to make died in her throat.  Juhani’s voice had grown strained, intense, and Bastila didn’t dare risk speaking, worrying about the tension she could sense in the Cathar’s body.

At that moment, though, the Cathar’s eyes touched hers, and her worries dissipated.  For all Bastila could see reflected in those eyes now was sadness.

“The Galaxy around us in turmoil,” Juhani said softly.  “Sith marching through the ruins of the Enclave on Dantooine... and I secretly crowed about the fall of one of our strongest allies out of small-minded jealousy.  Petty.  So very petty.”  Juhani smiled wistfully to herself.  “And thus I know that my journey is never-ending.”

“Thank you,” Bastila said quietly, finally finding her voice.

Juhani nodded in acknowledgment, then returned to the task at hand.

* * *

“I am ready for the crystals,” Juhani said, showing Bastila the two blood-red crystals she’d pulled from her lightsaber.

Rising from her chair, Bastila reached down into her belt pouch for her two yellow crystals.  But instead of two crystals, she felt... three?

She pulled them all out to look... and saw a beautiful white crystal sparkling in between her two yellow crystals.

_A Krayt dragon pearl!  But how...?_

_Enosh!  He must have slipped this in while I was asleep!_

It had been part of the treasure they’d received from the Krayt dragon’s den, back on Tatooine.  She’d hardly noticed it at the time, so distracted had she been by finding her father’s holocron journal in the back of that dank cavern.  She’d assumed he’d tuned it to work with his lightsaber; it was a very powerful artifact, after all.  Or sold it long ago, bowing to the enthused urgings of Mission, their resident rare gem appraiser.

_But he saved it.  He saved it for me..._

“Why did you do it?” Juhani asked.

“Hmmmm?”

She nodded toward the sparkling white crystal in her palm.  “Why did you leave?”

_Me?  Leave?  Or did he not join me?_

“I had no choice in the matter.  Neither did he.”  She tried to ignore the doubts lingering in the shadows of her mind.  _He understands.  He understands.  What I felt through our bond, this rarest of crystals in my palm... he understands.  I need to do this.  I can’t be true to myself... learn to... learn to stand myself again, look at the mirror without feeling the urge to turn away, without seeing this through._

_And it’s not through.  Malak may be gone, the Star Forge may be gone... but it is not through.  We must remain ever vigilant.  Some things will always be bigger than the two of us._

“There is always a choice.”

She smiled slightly.  “You sound like Master Vandar more and more, Juhani.”

“Practicing for my future as Master Juhani, perhaps,” grinned the Cathar.  But then her eyes turned serious.  “Why return?”

_Return?  To the Jedi?_

“Why did you?” she asked instead.

Juhani looked at her for a long moment, then simply nodded.

“Yes, I thought so,” Bastila said, giving her two yellow crystals to Juhani.

_It is in our blood._

She put the Krayt dragon pearl back into her pouch, to keep it safe.

* * *

With a flick of the switch, Juhani ignited Bastila’s lightsaber.

The familiar hue of the yellow beams warmed her heart more than she thought possible.

“It is a beautiful weapon,” Juhani murmured, studying it in detail, slowly spinning it.  She nodded.  “Very well-balanced.”

Juhani deactivated it, then twisted the ends in opposite directions and pulled.  Bastila’s lightsaber hilt split into two.

“My thanks,” she said, accepting the two hilts from Juhani.  _And thus begins the next step.  A single blade in my off-hand... the next task at hand to overcome._

Before the Cathar could respond, the monitor built into the wall above the fold-out table buzzed with an incoming transmission.

“Yes?” Juhani asked.

The monitor activated at the sound of her voice, revealing the image of Carth.

“Juhani.  Oh Bastila, good, you’re there, too.  We’re all wanted down in Admiral Dodonna’s conference room.”

“What’s going on?” Bastila asked.

“I don’t know.  But it’s urgent.  All the top brass will be there.”

 


	13. Plans - Admiral

“This doesn’t make sense,” Bastila said to Juhani, after the monitor when dark.  “We’re in hyperspace.  No one can shuttle between ships in hyperspace, and trying to conduct multi-party holocron transmissions through the interference of hyperspace would try anyone’s patience.”

But the answered revealed itself when they left Juhani’s room.  Outside, in the hallway, the large viewport showed a serenely static star field.

Bastila was no expert on hyperspace travel, but she didn’t think Coruscant was so close by.  It hadn’t even been a standard day since they’d departed Rakata.  Hyperspace travel was a strange thing, though; real space distances didn’t always translate as one would expect when it came to time in hyperspace to traverse those distances.

Bastila glanced briefly at the door to her room as they started down the short hallway.

“Do you need a moment?” Juhani asked, noticing Bastila’s hesitation.

HK-47 was in her room.  She’d managed to leave him in there prior to going into Juhani’s room to ask for her help in replacing the crystals in her lightsaber.

“No, no... let’s just go,” she said.

* * *

They weren’t the only ones confused by the current situation.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” one ensign confided to another as they passed by the two of them.

“And all the captains are assembling,” the other muttered.  “Shuttles coming in to the landing bays.  All of this was planned.  A bad sign, I’d say.  So much for our leave on Coruscant.”

* * *

They met Carth right outside the door leading into Dodonna’s conference room.

Bastila was taken aback by his appearance.  There was no mistaking now that he was a Commander in the Republic Navy.  Straight-backed, looking very much the martial warrior in his sharp red dress uniform, the Cross of Glory hanging prominently among various other indicators of past bravery and ability over his breast, he watched them approach, his eyes shadowed by the black bill of his cap.

But then his serious demeanor broke, his customary grin emerging through all the military discipline.  “Don’t start,” he said preemptively.  “This is an important meeting.”

“You need explain nothing to us,” Juhani said, a slight smile in her voice.

He turned his attention to Bastila.  “Are you ready?”

She nodded, studying him carefully.

_He looks nervous.  There’s a forced casualness about him.  Is it this meeting... or is it me?_

He cleared his throat, and turned to knock at the door.

* * *

Dodonna’s conference room was crowded.  About the large round table in the center of the room sat all the captains in the fleet, either in person or via holocron.  Farther back, seated in chairs along the walls, were sundry staff, liaison officers, and others.

Forn Dodonna was seated at the far end of the table, directly opposite from the doors.  On the wall behind her was the crest of the Republic Navy, looming above them all.

Deep in conversation with a group of staff officers gathered around her, she looked up at their entrance.  “Ah, our last arrivals are here.  We can begin.”

Carth led the two Jedi to a clutch of empty chairs along the wall, as Dodonna nodded to a pair of guards to close the doors.

Bastila kept her eyes firmly on the back of Carth’s brilliant red dress jacket as they moved through the crowds, not daring to look at the eyes that were following her, assessing her.  She’d spent a lot of time travelling with the Republic Navy during the war, and built up a lot of trust and goodwill through her efforts to utilize her Battle Meditation to assist the Navy in their desperate defense of Republic space.  To feel the uncertainty and wariness now directed towards her was disheartening, though not unexpected.  _And I have no one to blame for this but myself._

Without speaking a word, she automatically sat between Carth and Juhani once they’d arrived at their seats.  Steadying herself, she turned her attention to Dodonna.

Dodonna sat straight-backed in her chair, gathering in the eyes of everyone present, whether physical or holocron, while waiting for the last of the quiet sounds of conversation to die down.  In her late fifties, touches of gray touching her wiry brown hair, her intense gray eyes commanded respect and attention.

Not for the first time, Bastila silently wondered at the great fortune of the Republic that Saul Karath’s departure and eventual betrayal had not completely crippled the Republic high command.  Dodonna had lobbied hard for command of the fleet that went out to fight the Mandalorians, but had eventually lost out to the better-connected Karath—and so had the Republic accidentally benefited.  For though Revan and Malak’s shocking betrayal upon their return from the Unknown Regions had swamped the Republic frontier and caused worlds like Taris to be quickly lost, Dodonna’s desperate plans had held up the Sith on the Outer Rim long enough to save the Core from being immediately overrun.

“Let me start by once again congratulating each and every one of you for your valiant efforts in stopping the Sith at the Star Forge,” she began, her intense eyes seeming to touch all the faces in the room.  “We all sacrificed much, and we will always remember those no longer among us, who made the ultimate sacrifice.  The Republic will not soon forget this day.

“And I know we all deserve to rest, and indeed if things had gone according to plan, we would still be on Lehon, recuperating.

“But things rarely go according to plan.  I’m sure many of you wondered about the sudden decision to pack up all but the most seriously wounded and depart.  Only a few in this room knew the reasons behind this sudden decision, and it is a testament to the discipline and sense of duty of all present here that we were able to make this abrupt change of plans logistically feasible.

“But why the sudden decision to return to Coruscant, then?  What is the urgency?, many of you were probably wondering.

“There is no urgency to return to Coruscant.  However, Coruscant is not our destination.

“Korriban is.”

Murmurs suddenly raced through the room.  _So that’s why Zeftak asked me about Korriban!_

“And for Korriban,” Dodonna continued, talking over the whispers, “we are pressed for time.  For we discovered a secret, floating amid the wreckage of the Sith fleet around Lehon.  A navicomputer, containing a previously unknown hyperspace route into Korrban.”

She nodded to someone, and the lights dimmed as the center of the round table sunk to reveal a holoprojector.  With a flicker of light, stars suddenly came to life above the table, a myriad of pinpoints swirling in midair.

One star gleamed red in the holograph:  Korriban.  A spidery web of red lines grew from Korriban, reaching out towards other stars in the Galaxy.

“Our current hyperspace route map, for Korriban,” Dodonna said.  “Every route we’ve ever probed on this display has always had gravity well generators stationed far from the system, to pull any attacking craft out of hyperspace far from the main system, to allow time for defenses to be assembled.  The Republic, of course, does likewise for critical systems that are accessible from Sith space.”

A bright blue line suddenly formed, connecting Korriban to a formerly unconnected star system.

“This is the hyperspace route we extracted from the memory of that navicomputer salvaged from above Lehon.  It connects Korriban to another world in Sith space, Derea.

“We’d always suspected something like this existed,” Dodonna said.  “Based on intel and previous analyses of incursions near Korriban, it always seemed that Sith response times and numbers were better than our computer projections would otherwise predict.  This find confirms our suspicions.

“The secret Derea-Korriban route must have been exploited by the Sith to bring up reinforcements faster to Korriban than would otherwise have been anticipated by our planning scenarios.  And to keep that a secret, the Sith purposefully did not station gravity well generators to guard that approach, since their very presence would advertise the fact that that route existed.

“With the Star Forge no more and the Sith now reeling, I expect prudence to guide them to guard that secret approach.  But it will take time to set up gravity well generators there.  And in that small window of time, we will use that route to fly deep into the Korriban system, and hit it hard.”

Bastila found herself holding her breath at Dodonna’s audaciousness.  The Admiral was nothing if not aggressive.  The whole attack on the Star Forge was evidence of that.  Slightly outnumbered and well aware that the might of Bastila’s Battle Meditation would be arrayed against her, Dodonna still had pressed on, deciding to gamble on destroying the Star Forge before the numbers could get even worse.  Only Enosh’s turning of her Battle Meditation back to the Republic, as well as his vanquishing of Darth Malak, had saved Dodonna from what would have been a devastating defeat for the Republic.

A white line formed in the holograph, intersecting the blue line.  “This is our own current route, from Rakata to Merisan.  Some may have wondered at the roundabout way of reaching Coruscant via Merisan.  This was the real reason for that choice:  the Merisan route crosses the secret Derea-Korriban route close enough for us to be able to change from one to the other.

“We are moving at full pace right now toward our jumping point to Korriban.  Latest projections,” here she looked at her console on the table, “ have us arriving in about ten hours, followed by another twelve before we should emerge right at Korriban’s doorstep.”

The star map faded away, the holoprojector disappeared into the table’s surface, and the lights came back up in the room.

“Any questions?  Comments?” she asked.

At the break in Dodonna’s speech, dread slowly filled Bastlia’s heart.  With the Star Forge gone and Darth Malak cast down, it had seemed like the darkness had finally come to an end, and the long-sought-for peace lay just within grasp.  But Dodonna’s words cut through what she now realized had always been an unrealistic dream.  She knew well her history, knew how often the Jedi had faced and overcome adversity, and thought an eternal peace would be their reward, only to see the darkness inevitably rise again.

_And thus we need to remain ever vigilant.  But so soon, back into battle?  So soon, to return to the ways of danger and despair?_

Worries nagged at her still, and she realized that it was more than just resigned acceptance to the impossibility of ultimate victory.  The thought of Korriban filled her with anxious foreboding.  She glanced at Juhani, wondering if she shared her doubts, but the Cathar watched Dodonna with nothing but focused interest.

Her old Master Lonarr had always told her to listen to her feelings, no matter how irrational or tenuous they appeared. Many of the Jedi had particularly prescient visions, accurate hunches.  She didn’t consider herself to be one of them—none of her previous misgivings had ever seemed to be warranted.  In fact, all the anguish she’d felt about the tenuous nature of Revan’s redemption had been completely misguided.

But her own doubts about the accuracy of her intuition had never stopped her before from speaking out when she felt the need to, no matter the unpopularity of her views may have been, no matter how unreceptive her audience may have been.  In this, at least, she had hewn closely to her Master’s advice.

Things were different now, though.  Where the Bastila of a few weeks ago would have had no hesitation in rising to her feet and voicing her doubts about Dodonna’s plan, this one was reluctant to draw attention to herself, so soon after her terrible fall.

And so she sat still, while the discussion coursed around her.

“Why the deception, Admiral?” asked one of the captains, an elderly Twi’lek unfamiliar to Bastila.

“A precaution,” the Admiral replied, “to keep our true intentions concealed for as long as possible, in case any unfriendly ears got wind of it.”

Bastila didn’t need any special Force awareness to sense the tentative glances thrown her way.

“All our crews think the war is over,” commented another captain, a human.

“I wish it were so,” Dodonna said.  “We smashed the Sith at Rakata; dealt with the source of their ships decisively, and ended the reign of Darth Malak.

“But there has been no formal surrender, and I highly doubt we will ever hear of one.  Though their forces are greatly reduced, the Sith are still dangerous.  They still control Dantooine, and thus still threaten many sectors of Republic space at once.  We have been on the defensive for so long, but now that the tide has turned, we _have_ to press our advantage for as long as we have it, to force the Sith to contract their lines, to withdraw from our frontier.”

“With all due respect, Admiral, we are not well-prepared to invest Korriban,” said the elderly Twi’lek.

“I’m not talking about laying siege to Korriban, or landing an invasion force,” she replied.  “This is a quick strike raid, an opportunistic attack at the heart of the Sith Empire.  What could be more demoralizing to whatever remains of their forces than to have a Republic fleet emerge right over their ancient homeworld itself?”

She looked around after this, but the room had fallen quiet.

“Very well,” she said.  “We all have more work ahead of us.  Dismissed.”

Conversations started as people rose from their chairs.

“Did you know about this?” Juhani asked Carth as he rose to his feet.

“I’m as surprised as you two are,” he replied, nodding to someone passing by.

Her attention focused on Carth, Bastila noticed the unease in his face as he looked across the room.  _Something’s bothering him..._

“Commander Shan?”

Bastila was surprised as Dodonna’s voice swiftly cut through the other chatter in the room, silencing it.  “Yes, Admiral?” she asked into the sudden quiet and the curious gazes.

“If you have a moment, I’d like to meet with you in my office after this,” she said, nodding to the side.

Spotting the indicated door, Bastila nodded silently.

The brief exchange complete, conversations gradually picked up, knots of people gathering to discuss matters.

She glanced at Carth, but he just shrugged.  “She’s tough, but fair,” he offered up.

Juhani gave her a squeeze on her good shoulder.  She nodded at the Cathar in acknowledgement.

* * *

Dodonna’s office was spartan in appearance.  The only thing of note was a frame hanging on a wall, with a tattered pennant encased within.  She walked over to have a closer look at the torn banner.  The unmistakable signs of blaster scorch marks encircled many of the gaping holes in the faded fabric.

She heard the hiss of the door opening, and turned to see Dodonna at the doorway.

“The flag of the Republic that used to fly over the embassy on X’Geras,” the Admiral said, noting the subject of Bastila’s attention.  “Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

“X’Geras?”

“A small world on the other side of the Galaxy from here,” Dodonna said, walking over to her desk.  She sat, and gestured for Bastila to have a seat in the chair directly facing her desk.

“Before you were born,” the Admiral continued, as Bastila had a seat, “the Republic had set up a tenuous outreach program to several remote worlds in that sector.  Initial contact, trade negotiations, and so forth.”

The Admiral’s eyes strayed to look at the banner.  “Fresh out of officer school, on my first tour of duty with the _Comet_ , my first assignment was planetside to serve in the garrison on quiet X’Geras.  The perfect place for a green young Ensign to start her career, policing the bored soldiers.

“But the quiet was deceptive.  A faction of natives that wanted to sever relations with the Republic overthrew the government and decided their first action would be to put their words into action by massacring the lot of us.  And if the _Comet_ hadn’t developed engine problems which forced her to delay her planned jump into hyperspace after she’d dropped us off, they would have succeeded.”

Dodonna’s eyes were distant, staring back into her past.  “We held on for over twenty hours, fighting off the X’Gerans while the _Comet_ struggled to get back and evacuate us.  All the civilians made it off, but our unit suffered terribly.  Over 60 percent casualties, and I was the only surviving officer.”

Bastila didn’t need any special Force insight to see the shadows of the past terrors which played before Dodonna’s faraway eyes.

And then the Admiral’s eyes returned to the present, looking at her.  “I used to think that was the worst day of my life,” she said.  “But... it isn’t a pleasant thing, facing someone with Battle Meditation.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, quiet even, but it felt like a blow across Bastila’s face.

“Admiral, I—“

Dodonna cut her off with a sharp slicing gesture with her hand.  The soft voice had gone cold, but tightly controlled.  “Do not apologize, Shan.  Apologies do not change the past.  Apologies do not bring dead men and women back to life.”

The Admiral’s eyes were hard, and Bastila found herself frozen before them.  “I’ll not mince words, Commander,” she continued.  “Your betrayal was sickening.  If you were just a soldier... _hell!_ if you were _me_ , the Fleet Admiral herself, you would have been executed the moment you stepped foot off the Star Forge.”

Battered before Dodonna’s naked words, each one cutting as sharply as any blade could, Bastila found herself paralyzed before those unyielding eyes, as terrible pangs of guilt and shame roiled her heart.

“But we both know that the Jedi are ‘special’,” Dodonna finally continued.  “For better and for worse.”

She looked away, and Bastila found herself breathing once again, freed from paralysis.

“Can I rely on you, Shan?” Dodonna asked softly, almost as if to herself.  “Can I?”

The voice which had fled from her control came back reluctantly.  “Of—of course, Admiral!” she replied.

Dodonna’s eyes looked at her again, this time with an uncertainty that was painful to behold.

_I’ve learned my lesson!_ she whispered in her mind.  _You must believe me!_

The Admiral settled back into her chair, her fingers steepled in front of her, studying her carefully.  “Misgivings about our plans, Commander?” she asked.

Startled by the sudden change in topic as well as mood, Bastila demurred.  “I—I am only a Padawan, Admiral.”

Dodonna’s eyes widened slightly.  “This isn’t the same Jedi Commander who’s harangued her share of Republic officers over smaller matters than this, is it?”

_No, it isn’t._   “Why are there no Masters traveling with us?” she asked instead.  “Are Juhani and I the only Jedi accompanying the fleet?”

“Yes,” Dodonna replied after a moment.

“But why?”

“Let’s just say that Master Vandar and I have come to an understanding about certain things.”

_Meaning I am a pawn in some sort of turf war between the Republic Navy and the Jedi?  Or does this go even higher up, to the Senate?  This Jedi civil war cannot have improved relations between the Jedi and the Republic._

“Things are no longer the same, are they?”

“That question is above my pay grade,” Dodonna replied.

She sighed to herself.  Thanks to her unique abilities and the exigencies of the war, she’d found herself on the fringes of barely perceived political currents flowing between the Republic and the Jedi, even within the Jedi Council itself.  She longed for simpler days, when all she had to worry about was trying to follow the deceptive simplicity of the Jedi Code, but suspected that those days would never return for her.

“It may have been only a few days ago,” she said finally, returning to Dodonna’s question, “but the disaster at the Star Forge cannot have failed to have been noticed by the remnants of the Sith fleet.”  She clamped down hard on the echoes of the turmoil still stirring within, forcing herself to steady her voice, calm her heart.  “Why pursue further conflict now? Most likely a succession battle of the most horrific magnitude must be taking place to succeed Darth Malak as Dark Lord of the Sith—no matter how insubstantial that title may currently be.

“Admiral, I advise you to stay away.  Though—though I was with the Sith but  a few days, I think I can safely say that without Malak’s leadership, the various power brokers of the Sith will now be too busy with their internal squabbles to put up any effective resistance.  Quite the opposite, actually—prolonged, dangerous Republic forays against the Sith may galvanize the efforts of the stronger to consolidate their power and force the weaker to submit sooner rather than they normally would.

“But left to their own devices, they will surely tear each other apart, and the Sith Empire as well.”

Dodonna nodded quietly.  “I’ll take your words under advisement.”

_But you will still proceed with this course of action, won’t you?_


	14. Messages – Prognosis

The corridors of the _Fury_ were a hive of activity, as word quickly spread about the planned attack on Korriban.

But within those busy corridors, those most active of veins that ran through the body of the _Fury_ , there was a bubble of solitary isolation that made its own slow way through the crowds.  Or so it appeared to Bastila, standing at its center, though whether its formation was through the active efforts of those outside or the self-absorbed preoccupation of the one within, she could not have said.

She saw the faces without, the medley of races which comprised the multitudes of the Republic, absorbed in the serious, sobering business of a warship preparing for war.  But there appeared to be a distance between them and her; even their sounds seemed removed, muffled.

But though the outside world seemed distant, the inner one was all too near, all too immediate.

_Can I rely on you, Shan?_   The echoes of Dodonna’s question refused to be banished from the corridors of her mind.  At times, she felt the accusation implicit in those words rain down upon her huddled back.  At others, it was her own voice she heard, haranguing herself, trying to shine a light onto the dark, deep currents that stirred below the deceptively placid surface of her mind.

As she boarded an empty turbolift, one of those dark currents breached the waves.  _No matter what I do, they will always distrust me!  Why bother?_

The thought staggered her, her knees wobbling as the lift accelerated, causing her to stumble against the walls.

“I have been granted a second chance,” she whispered to herself out loud, reminding herself, as she steadied herself against the wall.  “A chance not many others would have been given.  I have to make good on it.  I have to!”

_I can’t let everyone down again.  I won’t._

* * *

Still in a haze of introspection, she jumped in surprise as the door to her quarters opened even before she had moved to touch the keypad.

HK-47 stood just inside the doorway, his red eyes glowing with a malevolence which Bastila found it harder and harder to believe was only the product of her imagination.  “Query:  Master, where have you been?” he demanded.

_The droid!  What has happened to me, that I have lost all my awareness, all my perception, all my sight, to be surprised so?  My old Master, were he still alive, would be justifiably excoriating me right now, stumbling around unaware and confused like this!_

She’d just been eviscerated by the Admiral; she wouldn’t take such a dressing down from a droid.  Especially not this one!

“I was unaware that it was my job to inform you of my every movement,” she replied coolly, angrily, her self-misery readily transforming itself into repugnance at this evil droid.  She glared at the droid, as she carefully concentrated on slowing the fluttering of her heart.

To her surprise, the droid actually looked abashed at her heated reply.

“Fact:  I am not a personal service droid, Master,” he said in a more neutral tone, stepping backward into her room to allow her in.  “That would be better served by the dull droids which overpopulate this ship and incessantly bombard me with their inane prattle about protocol handshakes and error detection algorithms.”

The very familiar tone of sarcastic dismissal which had laced his words gave way to a pained, long-running suffering.  “Reminder:  I am an HK droid, Master, a most finely tuned droid of death and destruction, and I have been tasked by my most sorely missed previous Master to protect you.  Such a task requires foreknowledge of your whereabouts and plans, not solitary confinement in your decidedly uninteresting quarters.  My talents are _sorely_ wasted on taking messages for you or serving as a space heater in your bedroom.”

“You will do as I tell you,” she said bluntly, sweeping in, finding herself unable to stop herself from riding this wave.  She knew she should stop, but found herself oddly detached from herself, an observer watching in bemusement at her own actions.

“Grudging acquiescence:  Yes, Master.”

She stopped at that, hearing in the droid’s harsh vocabulator something that scared her cold.  Not grudging acquiescence… but grudging approval.

_It feels good, doesn’t it?  To be in control, once again._

She stopped herself, took a moment to pause, breathe, and think.

_Taking messages?_

“Did someone contact me via the viewscreen while I was out?” she asked.

“Confirmation:  A Doctor Misa Kiersan called precisely 3.52 minutes ago, requesting your presence in the medical bay.”

_Kiersan?  So she’s aboard, also?_

“I really need to get a new comlink.”

“Query:  Shall I kill someone and loot their body for one, Master?”

“No.”  _How did Enosh put up with this all the time?_   “You will go down to the Quartermaster’s office and requisition one for me.”

“Objection:  But that will require filling out several lengthy forms in triplicate.  Followed by a painfully long period of enforced idleness on the premises before the item can be procured from the stores.  Followed by more forms confirming transfer of ownership of said comlink, as well as forms on acceptance of responsibility for misplacing said item.”

“I see you’ve spent time studying this already.”

“Statement:  Much can be gleaned from the study of supply-chain processes in a large organization.  The acquisition of a standard-sized ball bearing for one of my minor joints required me to observe this process in painful detail earlier.”

“Well then, consider this a chance to double-check any conclusions you may have reached from that experience.”  _Is it wrong to feel a certain amount of... amusement at this?  Why do I suddenly miss Mission?_

HK-47 looked as if he’d just been asked to escape from within the event horizon of a black hole.

* * *

With the bulk of the magnifier in her way, she could not see her right shoulder, or what Doctor Kiersan was doing behind it.

“Well?” she asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence.  _I never realized how spoiled I am by our abilities to quickly Heal ourselves—how do non-Jedi stand the interminable suspense?_

Even as she thought about it, she found herself unconsciously attempting yet again to peer into the wound with her senses.  And as had always happened in the past, she felt nothing but an emptiness.

She heard the doctor shift slightly next to her.

“I—I think we should schedule another surgery,” she said quietly, “now that we are back aboard and have access to our full facilities.”

The sudden tenseness that arose in her stomach threatened to strangle her.  “It’s getting worse?” she asked in what she hoped was a calm voice.

“No, no, not exactly,” the doctor replied.  “But there are signs that progress may have… plateaued.”

She closed her eyes, trying to fight down the disappointment.  “And what do you propose to do?”

“There are signs that the infection is… well, worsening.  Slightly.  We’ll increase the antibiotics, but it would probably be more effective if it were applied directly on the spot.  Some of my earlier repair work appears to have come unraveled; I’ll need to clean that up a bit, as well.”

“How long?  How long will it take, assuming everything goes as you expect?”

“It could be a month or two.”

_A month?!_

“I don’t normally do this, especially this early in treatment,” the doctor said, “but—well, there’s always the option of prosthetics.”

_Prosthetics.  A robotic arm?_   She glanced down at her right arm.  Already, it was looking atrophied and weak, continually pinned to her side in that sling.

_I’m too weak—too vain.  I can’t.  I can’t do it.  Not yet._

“It’s still early,” the doctor continued, reading Bastila’s silence perfectly.

The magnifier moved up out of the way.  Revealed beneath the harsh lights of the magnifier was the ugly, raw redness of her wound.

The doctor carefully patted a clean cloth over the wound, drawing out some of the pus that glistened beneath the lamps, and mercifully blocking the view of her wrecked shoulder.

She looked up to see the doctor’s sharp blue eyes already studying her.  “It looks a lot worse than it really is,” she said reassuringly, a hint of amusement in her voice, answering the unease that must have been apparent on her face.

She looked away, staring at the blinking lights of a computer on the wall ahead of her, as she felt the doctor expertly redress the wound with a clean new bandage. wind the dressing around and tie it down.

“When?” she asked, cringing inside at the jabs of pain the doctor’s ministrations elicited.

“After things settle down a bit,” Kiersan replied, giving the snug dressing one last tug.  “After Korriban.”

At Kiersan’s nod, a nearby medical droid stepped forward to assist Bastila to her feet.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bastila said, wincing as the droid’s cold metallic arm clamped about her wrist as it gently helped her off the examination table.  She tenderly moved her right arm, trying to find a position where the pain would fall back to the level of dull background noise she’d grown used to.

The doctor gathered up Bastila’s robe from a nearby chair and helped her put it on.  It went much faster than it normally did when she had to do it by herself; yet another constant reminder of the awkwardness of having to work around her injury.

“Do you need more painkillers?” Kiersan asked, bringing up a datapad and making notes.

“Not yet.”

She looked up at this.  “You _are_ taking them, aren’t you?  None of this silent suffering all you Jedi seem _so_ attracted to, are you?”

She didn’t reply, looking away in guilt from the doctor’s glare.  “How many Jedi have you worked on before?”

“You’re the first, but I’ve heard the stories.  Do I need to assign a medical droid to you?”

“No!” she blurted out quickly, thinking about HK-47.

The doctor’s stern disapproval turned into amusement.  “Note to self:  threatening to foist personal assistance droids onto Jedi is an effective technique to assure compliance with treatment plans.”

A short tone sounded over the ship’s comm, marking the hour.

“And talk about perfect timing.  Just in time for my break,” Kiersan said, switching the datapad off.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, Commander, I have a date with a tall, strong, dark...”

Her eyes twinkled as she winked at Bastila.  “...cup of caf.”  Sighing to herself, she slipped the slim datapad into a pocket of her coat and turned to go.

But as she reached the entry pad to the door of the small examination room that they were in, she paused and looked back at the Jedi.  “Care to join me, Commander?” Kiersan asked, arching an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bastila replied, “but I really need to prepare for Korriban.”  _Five more hours, if I’m counting correctly, before we start the jump to Korriban._

“Thirty minutes at the most,” Kiersan added.  “Just a quick trip down to the mess.”

“I—“

“Thirty minutes,” Kiersan repeated.  “You can spare thirty minutes from your busy schedule, can’t you?  To let your doctor find out more about her patient?”

“I—I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she relented finally.

“On the road to recovery already, I see!”


	15. A cup of caf – Legacies – Reckoning – Ghost

“There’s nothing quite like the smell of hot caf, is there?”

Kiersan’s eyes were closed, her face hovering over the tall cup of steaming black caf that sat before her on the small table they shared in the half-empty mess.

Bastila looked into her own cup with considerably less enthusiasm than was evinced on her companion’s face.  Her Master had warned her against the adverse effects of caf and other such stimulants on the tranquility all Jedi strive for.  On the few occasions when she’d tested her Master’s advice on this, his words had always proven correct.

She looked up to see the doctor watching her with amusement.  “On the Jedi no-no list, is it?” she asked.

She sipped a bit of the hot liquid, and could almost immediately feel the effects of the caf course through her, as her heart beat faster.  “Nonsense,” she replied, even as she tried to school her face from her immediate reaction to the pungent taste on her tongue.

“I don’t blame you; the caf on board this ship is terrible,” Kiersan confided in a conspiratory whisper, throwing a sidelong glance at the distant, bland kaf dispensing unit as if it were the most sensitive of chefs.

“So why do you continue to drink it?”

“Now there’s a question I still don’t have an answer for,” the doctor replied wistfully.  She shrugged in surrender, closed her eyes, raised the cup up with practiced ease, and took a long sip.

“Terrible.  Like ashes in my mouth,” she sighed in contentment, setting it down again and smiling to herself.

Bastila could see the weariness lift like a shroud away from the doctor’s face.  “Busy lately?”

“You know how it is in the military.  Hurry up and wait.  Hurry up and wait.”  She shrugged, taking another drink.  “We’ve been in ‘hurry up’ mode for what seems like months now.  I could really do with a few weeks of ‘waiting’, right about now.”

She sighed, reflective, a forefinger lazily tracing the circle of the cup’s rim.  “Getting that hospital set up on Lehon so fast was just the most recent logistical nightmare.  Everyone wanted their break, their R&R, and who could blame them, after what everyone’s been through?  I had to cajole, threaten, plead, cry, and worse, to get the resources to finish it on time.  I may have signed away the naming rights to my firstborn somewhere in there; I’ll have to ask a solicitor once we get somewhere civilized.  And for what?  Four days planetside, and here we are, back in space again!”

She chuckled to herself.  “And I’m supposed to be ‘in the know’.  How does all this look to my staff?  They must think the Admiral has gone crazy!  And that I supplied her the drugs to get there!”

“She most definitely is _not_ crazy,” Bastila commented.

Kiersan looked at her at this, but said nothing.

Instead, she looked away, gazing without focus around the sparsely-populated mess.

They’d arrived at a pretty dead time, right in between the lunch and dinner break times.  But with most of the ship still in a frenzy of activity in preparation for the upcoming battle, there were the odd knots of soldiers slipping in after overlong shifts to get what nourishment they could while they still had the time.  A few long tables stood in the center of the room, with small groups of soldiers clustered in quiet groups, speaking in quiet, tense voices.  They had one of the smaller tables, which ringed the periphery of the room, all to themselves.

Her heartbeat slowing down somewhat, Bastila peered into the murky depths of the caf, wondering if she should venture another sip.

“You two make a lovely couple, you know.”

Feeling her pulse quicken suddenly, she looked up to see the doctor studying her.

“Thank you,” she said uncomfortably, not sure what to say.

_Why does it still feel so strange, so… shameful… to acknowledge this to others?  All the other trillions and trillions across the Republic find their own special someone without feeling this way..._

“He’s _quite_ the charmer,” Kiersan added.

That pang of jealousy flared up again in her, as it had when she’d first met the doctor and heard about Enosh’s frequent visits while she’d been unconscious, recovering from her injuries.  _This insecurity is nonsense!_

But the doctor _was_ a very attractive woman.  Self-assured, successful, charming, witty, and obviously intelligent.  Too old to be a sister, she might have been like a very young aunt to Bastlia… or so she could only imagine, since her father had had no next-of-kin and her mother had completely cut herself off from the rest of her family.

“I’ll expect an invitation to your ceremony, of course.”

_Ceremony?_

“There _will_ be a ceremony, won’t there?” Kiersan asked at the hesitation she sensed in her companion.

The thought of Master Vrook scowling at her as she walked by, arms entwined with Enosh, sent shivers up her spine.

“I… I don’t know… we just started… it’s all very complicated,” she replied, eyes locked on the cooling caf before her, wishing herself to be anywhere right now but here.

She hadn’t really thought about the future… their future… together.  It had all seemed so unlikely… so _forbidden_ … back when they were still struggling to find the key to the location of Darth Malak’s secret weapon, the Star Forge.  And then most recently, with the darkness of her fall from which she was still recovering, he’d been someone to anchor herself onto, to pull herself out of the anger and hatred, the pain and the sadness.

She tried to imagine herself, sitting in her quiet dormitory in the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine, just sitting there next to him, looking out the window together at the windswept sea of grass serenely waving beneath the soft sunlight of the morning.  And for a moment, it was there, a warming reality within her heart.

But then she blinked, and the vision was gone, replaced by the blackened ruins of the Enclave, the smoldering fires still ravaging the verdant plains of Dantooine.

“It always is,” Kiersan said, commiserating.  “What does your mother think about it all?”

“Mother is probably the last person I should ask about this,” Bastila said flatly, banishing the disturbing thoughts of Dantooine from her mind, focusing on the words she spoke, the emotions they stirred within.

Kiersan just looked at her inquiringly.

“My mother married below her station,” Bastila explained, “ignoring the advice of friends and family, earning herself effective exile from those she once knew.  She thought love would overcome all.  She was sadly mistaken.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.  “That’s a cruel thing to say about your own mother.”

“Why?  That’s what she was oft to tell me herself, on those occasions I was unfortunate enough to be left alone with her when my father went on one of his trips.”  _Whenever she deigned to speak to me, that is, rather than foist me off on the nanny droid._

The familiar bitterness emerged within, like some well-worn stuffed animal to clutch at and keep at bay the terrors of the childhood night.  But she forced herself to let it go, remembering Tatooine, and the resolution she’d thought she’d finally reached with her mother there.

A few stumbling words; a quick, awkward squeeze of the shoulder… was that really enough to vanquish fifteen years of misunderstanding and disappointment?  It had seemed so at the time, and the fact that the bitter sadness so quickly receded in her mind now was testament to changes for the better.  But still…  _I was always annoyed by Mother’s distant ways… but am I any different?  Does it take life and death hanging over my head, salvation and destruction of the Republic looming for all, before I can do anything more?_

_It is so easy to fall back into old habits, isn’t it?  Am I doomed to forever fight the past?_

“Please forgive me,” she said aloud, expunging the feelings the doctor’s innocent inquiry had stirred up.  “But enough about me.  What of yourself, Doctor?  Your parents must be very proud of you.”

“Please, call me Misa.  And my parents are both gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded silently.  “They were both doctors.  And they both died doing what they loved the most:  helping the wounded, the sick.  They both jumped at the chance to help fight the plagues that burned through the Cradle Nebula ten years ago.  Side by side, they treated the sick, while searching for the causes.  And side by side they both eventually succumbed.”

“They were very brave,” Bastila said.  She recalled her own faint memories of that time, of the terrible speed with which the still-puzzling sickness had felled the inhabitants of the distant worlds encircling the young stars within the Cradle Nebula.  Quite a few Jedi had joined the efforts to fight the disease, to treat the sick and seek a cure.  And quite a few had never made it back.

“That’s what everyone always says,” Kiersan sighed, a trace of distant sadness in her voice.  “So that’s why I’m here, instead of practicing in some comfortable hospital on Courscant or Corelia.  Dying of old age would probably be anticlimactic for my family.  Not to mention providing the wrong impression to any little ones following in our footsteps.”

It was hard to tell if Kiersan was joking or not.

Bastila suddenly detected an uneasiness tinging the doctor’s wistful demeanor.

“What is it?” she asked.

Kiersan’s eyes widened.  “How did you do that?”

“It kind of comes with the lightsaber,” she replied, shrugging slightly.

The doctor laughed softly.  “Right.  Yes, I have to admit that I didn’t invite you down here just to chat.  Though this has been pleasant enough, your formidable Jedi reserve notwithstanding.  Ulterior motives and all, though that sounds so terribly sinister, doesn’t it?”

She just waited, sensing that Kiersan was fluttering about the issue at hand.

Thus distracted, she failed to notice that they had company until the doctor suddenly looked up as a shadow fell across their table.

_Blast!_ she cursed herself, seeing the surprise in Kiersan’s eyes as a hand touched her good shoulder.  _What’s wrong with me?!_

Glancing back, she saw a tall young woman with short yellow hair standing behind her.

“Yes?  Can I help--?”

And then she sensed the pain, radiating from the woman like a supernova.

“Commander,” the woman said quietly, her blue eyes intense, as she stepped back, releasing Bastila’s shoulder.

Bastila rose, and noticed for the first time the crowd that had gathered behind the woman.  Some were openly hostile.  Others merely cool.  A few could not meet her eyes, uncomfortably turning to look away, look elsewhere.

_I knew I shouldn’t have come here!_

She faced the woman who had accosted her.  “You have me at a disadvantage,” she said quietly, into the teeth of the hostile silence.

“Warris,” the woman replied.  “Midshipman Elena Warris.”

“Midshipman Warris,” the Jedi repeated, nodding her head in acknowledgement.  “What would you have of me?”

Elena was wound up; every part of her body stretched taut.  “I... I would have my husband back, Commander,” she said stiffly.

Bastila had been steeling herself for this; knew the moment she’d stepped aboard the _Fury_ , passed by the first serviceman who’d glanced at her surreptitiously, what she was getting into.

_And now comes the time to face this._

“And who... was your husband, Warris?” she asked softly, her eyes never leaving the other’s.

_Was._   The other woman’s dark eyes glittered at that word, at Bastila’s pause.  “Corporal Zaran Warris.  _Harvester_.”

Eyes in the crowd burned at the sound of the lost ship’s name.

“I was watching a viewscreen and I saw it happen,” Elena continued, her voice flat, devoid of life.  She closed her eyes, and slowly recited, as if she’d memorized each word, “One moment, there she was, struggling through the wall of fire, clouds of fighters swarming all around her.  The next, a blast from one of the Sith cruisers lanced through a seam in her shields, pierced her heart, shattered her keel, and she disintegrated.  Right before my eyes.”

Elena opened her eyes.  “And the worst part,” she whispered, her painful, accusing eyes finding Bastila’s, “the worst part... was the haze about my eyes.  The dullness of my thoughts.  The lethargy in my bones.  My love... my love... died before my eyes, and I felt... nothing.  _Nothing!_   Nothing but a dull stupor, a simpleton witnessing the ending of my future.  I couldn’t even shed a tear.  Not one... single... tear.”

Each word seared itself into Bastila’s mind, casting a terrible, revealing light onto the dark corners she’d tried to avoid.  Guilt lashed her mercilessly, its talons sharp, its gaze relentless.  _My battle meditation._

“If I could bring him back, I would,” she finally said into that awful silence, her voice somehow managing to remain steady despite the anguish twisting her heart.  “If I could bring him back, his shipmates... every last soul who paid the ultimate price for... for my betrayal at the Star Forge, I would, though it cost me all.”

She closed her eyes, feeling Elena’s pain become her own, and welcoming it, to fill the sudden emptiness that yawned within, feeling every last dagger slicing its way into her heart.

“But I can’t,” she finally replied, opening her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t undo what I have done.  All I can do is live with the regret, forever.”

Those other eyes flared, and she gasped inside at the terrible anger, the sad despair, the overwhelming torment reflected from within.

“I know it will never be enough,” Bastila continued quietly, “but it is all I can offer.”

_All those who paid the ultimate price for my folly will stay with me forever, you must believe me!_

“Words,” Elena said, her voice harsh.  A bitter smile emerged.  “Pretty words.”  She swallowed, her face turning red.  “That is not good enough, Commander.  That... is... not... _good enough!_ ”

“Warris!” Doctor Kiersan said in alarm from behind Bastila.

She half-turned, glancing back at the doctor and motioning her to silence.  _I can handle..._

_CRACK!_

The blow caught her cleanly across the left cheek, sending her stumbling back against the table.  Tears more of shock than of pain swelled from her clenched eyes, as she instinctively grabbed hold of the stinging skin.

Gasping, she looked up.

Elena Warris looked as if she was the one who had been struck.  She was visibly trembling, her breath ragged, her face flushed.

“You robbed me!” she hissed, through the pain contorting her voice.  “Robbed me of the life I should have led!  The child who should have been ours!”

And suddenly, _Oh, by the Force, no!  Please, no!_ She could see that child, ghostly in her mind, cradled in his mother’s arms.  Laughing as his father tossed his little, smoky body into the air.  Standing straight, resolute, helping his mother up some stairs.  Eyes shining with tears as he held his own baby close to his faint face.  More shadows emerged, more children, a long line of descendants.  She felt herself reaching out to them, but they grew dimmer and dimmer as they marched further and further into the future...

“ _What’s going on here?!_ ”

The crowd behind Elena parted, and Carth emerged from their midst.

Though still slightly dizzy from the blow and disoriented by her abrupt vision, Bastila was nevertheless stunned to see the livid fury writ upon Carth’s face.

“ _I said, what is going on here, Warris?!_ ” he practically screamed at the woman’s back.

The midshipman stiffened to attention, the calm returning to her face as she turned to look at Carth.  “Sir, I struck the Commander, sir!” she yelled.

“Report to the brig, Warris!” Carth yelled.  “ _Immediately!_ ”

“Sir, yes sir!” she snapped.

Carth stared at her back as she swiftly moved away, then turned to glare at the others around them.  “The rest of you, clear out!  Mess is over!”

The soldiers quickly scattered before Carth’s fury, leaving only the three of them.

And then that rage turned upon her.

“What the _HELL_ were you thinking, coming in here?!” he yelled at her.

“Commander, I—“ the doctor started to say from behind her.

“I’m sorry, Car—Commander,” she interrupted Kiersan, before the doctor could make her confession.

“Sorry?!” Carth spluttered.  “ _Sorry?!_   Do you realize how _stupid_ this was?!  We lost one third of our fleet just four days ago, and here you are prodding the blasted bleeding wounds with your damned lightsaber!  What were you trying to do, start a riot?!”

“I—“

“Never mind that,” he said, sighing an explosive breath out, and with it most of his anger surprisingly receded.  “Just... just please go back to your room, without stirring up a mutiny in the process, okay?  I’ve got to get to the brig right now.”

 


	16. Appearances – A droid’s ministrations – Evasiveness – Restless

She looked into the mirror, still disinclined to believe what it reflected back to her:  the skin of her left cheek was unmarred.

She ran the fingers of her left hand gently over the smooth skin.  She could still feel the ghostly sting of Elena’s disgust upon it.  _How can it be that it has left no mark on me, no scar to announce to the entire universe the depths of my shame?_

Doctor Kiersan had quickly been called away only steps out of the mess, leaving Bastila to make her way back to her quarters alone.  Every sullen face she had passed in those hallways, every conversation that died abruptly when she brushed by, only reinforced the swollen welt that she felt sure must have consumed her entire face by the time she stumbled into the silent blackness of her room.

But here, bathed in the sterile light of her empty quarters, away from the hard eyes and the sidelong glances, she could see no sign that the turmoil she felt within was reflected without.

There was a slight shadow along the bridge of her nose, legacy to a long-ago accident on the sparring grounds that had landed her in the hospital for a week. And one scar across her forehead, though even now fading away, carrying within its pink softness the cold memory of the Star Forge.

_But what of the Harvester?  Or the other ships of the Republic, all their crew, consigned to orbit in their scattered graveyards above Lehon, until gravity finally, mercifully pulls them into fiery oblivion?  What marks the passing of so many upon me?_

The door to her room hissed open, startling her out of her brief fugue.

“Statement:  Ah!  As I surmised, you have retreated to your quarters to recover from your latest humiliation.  One wonders at the fortitude this must signify hidden within, to withstand such frequent and demeaning setbacks.”

Even as she sighed inside at the unwelcome presence of the droid, a part of her was relieved it was not anyone else.  “You know, it’s customary to knock,” she said, irritated.

“Insincere apology: HK droids are not accustomed to alerting anyone to their presence.  Particularly meatb--organics.”

She took her eyes off the droid as he entered the room, and went back to studying her image.  Her eyes were strained, her lips pressed tightly together.  _An unpleasantness of an entirely different origin, now._

“Word has spread quickly, has it?” she asked, attempting indifference.

“Reply: An alert was enunciated on the ship’s primary messaging subsystem, regarding the infraction of one Midshipman Elena Warris,” HK-47 replied, approaching until he stood right behind her, his red eyes glowing in the mirror’s reflection, just beyond her right shoulder.  “Along with a ‘private’ message,” a metallic snort here, “escalating the surveillance level of one Bastila Shan, to all security systems.”

_Surveillance?_   She probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as she felt at the news.

“Further discreet inquiries to the many monitoring systems aboard this ship quickly pinpointed the incident in the mess hall,” continued the droid, depositing the comlink she’d requested onto a side table.

She spared a glance at the comlink, then back into the mirror.  The droid stared at her reflection.

“Well?” she prompted to his unnervingly cold attention.

“Opinion:  The human head is a terribly designed contraption for storing one’s central processing unit.  Encased in little more than calcium deposits, the fragility brings to question the sanity of any who nevertheless venture to engage in conflict resolution.  The ineffective strike you received is matched only by the ineffectiveness of your skull to protect against it.  Even the weakest kinetic weapon of the archaic past would have proved to be more than enough to shatter it.  A plasteel replacement head would make for a much more survivable unit.”

“I’ll take that in mind,” she replied dryly.

“Caveat:  Though given the propensity of the female of your species to be reduced to tears, it would be advisable to choose a waterproof alloy.”

_Sigh._   “Why didn’t you alert me to this surveillance earlier?” she asked, slipping away from the mirror and the uncomfortably close droid beside her.

“Reply:  I assumed that as the meekly submissive Jedi that you are, you would have no objections to your acknowledged superiors monitoring you in such an intrusive way.”

She closed her eyes at the heat the droid’s dismissive regard for her always generated.  _He’s trying to goad me into doing something stupid..._

“But the slight increase in body temperature that I can detect tells me that perhaps I am too quick to judge.”

She gritted her teeth silently.

Never one to quit, the droid continued doggedly.  “Suggestion:  How ungrateful these Republic soldiers are, after all you’ve done for them, Master.  It would certainly serve them right if you were to--”

She cut him off.  “Forget it, HK.”

“Inquiry:  Shall I terminate this Elena Warris for you now, Master?  A lesson must be made of those who--”

“Of course not!”

“Inquiry:  Shall I terminate this Elena Warris for you _later_ , Master?  The fear that uncertainty may bring upon--”

“I said no.”

“Inquiry:  After I terminate Elena Warris for you, Master, will you require her head as a trophy?”

“No!  I mean, I don’t want you to kill _anyone_ on my behalf!”

“Inquiry:  So you can handle this yourself?”

“Yes!  No!  I mean... no one is killing anyone, okay?”

The door buzzed.

“Enter!” she called out, welcoming the distraction from the relentless droid, as HK-47 spun around with the alacrity only a battle-honed assassin droid possessed.

The door slid open, and Carth entered.

HK-47 stood down.  “Greeting:  Ah, the beta male has arrived.”

Already annoyed, Carth’s eyes darkened at the droid’s dismissive note.  “You,” he said curtly, pointing a finger at the droid, then gesturing toward the door behind him.  “Out.”

“Error:  Access denied,” the droid replied with ill-disguised delight.  “User privilege level deemed... _inadequate_.”

“Why don’t you go outside and stand guard in the hallway?” Bastila suggested, as Carth looked like he was ready to tear the droid apart with his bare hands.  _Join the crowd!_

“Objection:  I cannot leave you alone in anyone’s presence.  I have lately been remiss in my duties, detestable though they may be.  From this point forward, I must activate my override circuits and accompany you everywhere, our mutual desires to the contrary notwithstanding.”

“Is that the only color these comlinks come in?” she asked suddenly, glancing at the side table.  “I’d prefer a different color.”

“Reply:  Metallic gray is the standard-issue mold color.  Anything else requires yet another form detailing the exact hue and chromatic properties, as well as detailed reasons as to why a non-standard…”

HK-47’s eyes pulsed as Bastila’s pointed threat finally came across.

The droid’s vocabulator vibrated with a rattling sigh of epic proportions.  “Grudging acquiescence:  As you wish, Master.  We can discuss our plans to eliminate Elena Warris later.”

She glared at the droid as he left, ignoring Carth’s surprised glance in her direction.

“He has been purposely misunderstanding me,” she explained to Carth.  _He knows I would never do such a thing… doesn’t he?_

Carth gave the door a quick glance as it hissed closed behind HK-47.  “By all the stars of the Galaxy, Bastila, what were you thinking, bring _him_ along?”

“It was Revan’s idea,” she replied.

“It still sounds strange to say it,” he mused, thoughtful.  “Revan.”

_You have no idea._

But thinking of Enosh, or Revan, here with Carth, only brought back bad memories.  Disbelief, on Carth’s face, as he had glanced up from the dying Saul Karath, to look upon his friend Enosh, revealed to be none other than Darth Revan himself.  And equal disbelief, and pained betrayal, as he’d turned to look at her afterward.

She remembered the halting conversation that had followed, to be cut short by the pressure of time, and then the rush for escape.  And took a deep breath, in preparation for its conclusion.

But if she felt a natural reluctance to continue the self-flagellation that appeared to be her entire life after the Star Forge, he also seemed reluctant to probe further into the emotional wreckage which those last moments aboard _Leviathan_ had become.  Though he appeared to be reflecting as well, he must have been aware enough to see something change in her face, for before she could speak, he said gruffly, the displeasure in his voice only a muted echo of the white-hot rage she'd felt back in the mess hall, “You can’t be doing things like this, Bastila.  You don’t know the mood of this ship, and this crew.”

“I am not naive, Carth Onasi,” she replied shortly, irritated as much by his tone as by the abrupt change in conversation.  Much had changed between the two... but much had remained the same.  _Despite all we’ve been through, part of him still remembers me as the young girl who’d first stepped foot on his Endar Spire, so long ago._

“You’re fortunate I happened to be close by,” he replied.

“Yes,” she said briefly, all the while thinking about the surveillance HK-47 hinted she was under.  Recalled seeing him under starlight, back on the jungle paths of Lehon, outside Kiersan’s makeshift hospital.  _You’re hiding something from me, Carth Onasi._

Perhaps noting her tone, he continued on, “Much as I may disagree with that droid, he has a point.  But can you keep him under control?”

She gritted her teeth at the casual affront.  “I think I’ve done well enough so far, despite the difficulties,” she replied stiffly.  “Or do you have a differing opinion?”

Even as she uttered the words, she abruptly realized she’d thrown down a challenge.

He looked at her at this, and she was surprised to see pain reflected deep within his eyes.

Guilt welled forth again, but with it came anger.  Frustration.

She glared at him.  _I’m tired of this!  Where do we stand?  Go on!  Yell at me!  Why aren’t you yelling at me?!  The cold, heartless bitch you always thought I was, damning those around me for the Greater Good of the Galaxy, and especially for the inscrutable Jedi!_

But as before, when she’d first woken after the Star Forge, he didn’t want to confront it still.

A soft tone sounded, marking the hour.

“I’ve got to get going,” he said, obviously welcoming the interruption.  “I need to be present for Midshipman Warris’ preliminary hearing.”

“Preliminary hearing?” she asked, feeling her anger ebb away.  She let go the last strands, and silently resigned herself to the relief she felt, as the conversation steered itself awkwardly onto different rails. _Time enough for this later._

“A recording of the charges against her.”

“I don’t recall charging her with anything.”

“I don’t recall asking you to.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” she continued.

“I know,” he replied.  “She’s a good kid; she really is.”

“What will happen to her?”

“She’ll stay in the brig for a few days, get some time to cool off and get back to normal.”

She steeled herself.  “I want to see her.”

“No,” he replied curtly.

_Now why did I know you were going to say that?_   “Why not?”

“Because she needs time to reflect, come to her senses, and it’s a lot easier to do that when the source of your irritation isn’t standing right in front of you.”

“Then later,” she insisted.

“Maybe,” he said, relenting.  “But right now, I think you should get some rest, before we reach Korriban.”

* * *

She looked into the murky depths of the caf that sat in front of her.  But instead of the steaming brown liquid she expected to find, there was a thick layer of blood pooled within the cold chalice.

She pulled away from it in shock, only to cut her fingers on the hard, sharp points that encrusted it.

Looking up from the sharp pain that lanced through her hand, she saw an all-too-familiar person smirking at her from across the small table in the mess hall.

“This has taken a decided turn for the worse,” she said coldly.

Her companion rolled her eyes.  “I suppose that would qualify as ‘wit’ from a Jedi?”

“What do you want?” she asked, glancing down at her fingers.  The pain had receded, leaving a faint throbbing.

Which was still better than the feeling she got, looking at her mirror image across the table from her.

Her twin didn’t deign to answer.  Instead, she looked away, casually lifting her own cup in her left hand.  Her right shoulder was a bloody wreck, shattered flecks of white bone occasionally peeking out through the rent fabric and torn flesh.  “I’m liking that droid more and more,” she said.  “Such a decidedly inventive aggressiveness.”

“You are the company you keep.”

“Quite the feisty one today, aren’t we?  And such wit!  How did the debate team pass by such a gem at the Enclave for all those years?”

She glared at Bastila.  “But are you talking about _me_ , Bastila dear?  Or _you_?”

Bastila didn’t reply, beyond the cold stare she directed at her doppelganger.

Her twin blinked first, chuckling to herself as she glanced away, apparently satisfied that she’d made her point.  “Speaking of company, you should be glad I’m here, instead of that flighty doctor.  Such a babbling idiot!  And they trust people’s lives to her?”

“Is there a point to all this ranting?” she asked.

Her other companion ignored her, lost in a sudden tide of anger, her eyes locked onto something only she could see.

“That blasted whore of a doctor!” she spat, flinging the contents of her cup all over the table, spidery fingers of blood flinging past Bastila’s face.  “She was panting all over Revan, _my Revan_!”

A cold, calculating calm settled over the angry lines of her twin’s pinched face.  “I’ll teach that slut a lesson,” she said, “and slit her stringy throat.  Will your breathless sighs help you when you’re breathing through your neck, watching your blood bubble all over yourself, my dearest Doctor?  Hmmm?”

And for the slightest of instants, Bastila could see Kiersan in front of her, eyes wide in shock, shaking hands grabbing her torn throat, futilely trying to stop her life from welling out between her fingers...

“That would teach _him_ , too,” her twin muttered darkly, shaking Bastila out of her horrific vision.  “Teach him what it means to betray me!  He called me his ‘one true love’, only to _desert_ me!  Left me to _rot_ in Malak’s prison!  How could he?  How could he do this to me, his _only_ love?!  Look at what he did to me!”

In her escalating rage, her twin had risen to her feet, somehow managing to raise her ruined right arm, to showcase her bloody shoulder.

“You deserved it!” Bastila shot back at the horrid creature across from her, to stop her from spitting out more vitriol.

Her twin’s glazed, blood-shot eyes lost their distant focus, and returned to her.  “What was that?”

“I said you deserved it!  Everything you got!”  _And more!_

Her doppelganger started laughing, a grating, indulgent laugh.

A hand touched her left shoulder.

She turned.

Cool air from the air scrubbers aboard the _Endar Spire_ whispered against her face.  And gently played with the long blonde hair of the Jedi in front of her.

Bastila rose unsteadily to her feet, as the Jedi stepped back, letting her shoulder go.

Surprise numbed her as she recognized the familiar face.  “Athene?” she whispered.

A silent nod of acknowledgment from the somber woman in front of her.

“But—but—Enosh saw you—“

And then she saw her friend, the friend she’d met her very first day at the Enclave, more clearly.  Saw the blackened scorch marks that limned her entire right side.  The arcing wires in the ruined, smoking wall panel behind her.

“It was my fault,” she mumbled through numb lips, reaching out with her left hand, tentatively.  But Athene remained just out of reach.  “You shouldn’t have gone back to find him.  You shouldn’t have accompanied me in the first place.”

The dead Jedi did not answer.  Her blue eyes, once so alive and sharp, now cold and unseeing, turned to the side.  Bastila’s eyes followed, as if physically dragged over by the other’s.

She saw row upon row of silent Republic soldiers standing before her, lining the corridor.  Blasted bodies.  Torn limbs.  All staring at her, with eyes as flat and lifeless as Athene’s.

The corridor about them faded away, to be replaced by crumbling buildings, shattered towers, fires flaring to life on the distant, jagged skyline.

A nearby explosion shook her; thick, roiling clouds of black smoke blinding her.

She coughed, waving futilely with her hand, as the billowing clouds enveloped her.

And when they cleared, a cold silence descended upon her.

Where once there were soldiers, there now stood a crowd of hundreds.  Thousands.  Millions.  As far as her eye could see, in all directions.  Of all shapes and sizes, all ages and species.

Staring at her.  With the same flat, lifeless eyes.

_Taris_.

* * *

Shivering, she awoke. Alone, in the inscrutable darkness of her room.

She felt her heart racing, and concentrated on slowing it down, controlling her breathing.  _My dreams have never been this vivid before, have they?_

A distant chime sounded, followed by another.

“One hour to arrival,” a soft, precise voice said over the ship’s comm.  “One hour to arrival.  All personnel report to assigned stations.”

 


	17. Interlude – Battle Meditation

The twin doors met one another with a swift _hssss_ , enclosing the trio within the cylindrical confines of the turbolift chamber.

Bastila looked at herself within the reflection of the interior walls of the doors.

After awakening from her disturbing dreams, her stubborn reservoir of self-reliance had finally been tapped, and she’d taken up Dr. Kiersan’s long-standing offer for the use of a personal assistance droid.  She’d expected her request to be lost amid the chaos of last-minute preparations (which even now, at this late moment, still convulsed the ship and her crew), but the gleaming, quietly polite, silvery droid that had arrived with surprising alacrity was testament to either the logistical efficiency of a well-trained crew or a heretofore unknown attentiveness to her well-being (the implications of which were somewhat unsettling to her).

The passable image which presented itself to her within the reflective walls of that turbolift was in large part testament to the efficient efforts of that same droid.  Under quite a considerable time constraint, it had managed to do a splendid job of mending her pants into something resembling their former shape, and the familiar weight and touch of that heavy fabric against her skin went quite a ways toward making her feel more her usual self.  Her tabard and vest, however, had suffered more of her wrath in the Temple, proving beyond repair within the short confines of time allowed them.  She’d had to settle for an overly large dress shirt (which nevertheless managed to pinch in places due to the bulge of the bandages about her right shoulder pressing against the fabric) hastily requisitioned from surplus.

_I was a fool to wait so long to do this_ , she thought to herself.  It was almost as if the sickness, the lethargy, the uneasiness of the past few days had been woven into the very fabric of the shapeless, antiseptic hospital robes she’d worn, and their removal had removed at least part of that psychic miasma that had seemed to hover around her ever since she’d awoken to her new world.  Additionally, she hadn’t realized quite how vulnerable she had felt, until she’d felt again the familiar, protective weight of her leggings.

She glanced to her side, where Carth Onasi stood at rigid attention, even in the privacy of the turbolift.  He’d arrived at her door shortly after she’d finished her preparations for the upcoming battle, to escort her to the bridge.

She had to smile to herself, despite their imminent arrival about Korriban, at the change that had come upon him aboard the _Fury_.  When she’d first met him, when he’d greeted her as she and Athene had first stepped aboard the _Endar Spire_ , she’d initially been taken aback by his casual appearance and informal familiarity.

_Scandalized would be a more accurate term_ , she corrected herself, ruefully.  When she reflected on how she’d behaved, acted, and thought about things even a few months ago, at the start of this whole adventure, believing herself to already be, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, a world-weary, experienced Jedi, she could only shake her head in belated embarrassment.

Despite her constant, though usually silent, disapproval, he had stubbornly refused to act more the part of the Republic commander, so readily deferring command of the mission to Enosh on Taris, and acquiescing with nary a protest to the presence of the woefully underage Mission and the morally ambiguous Canderous on their quest.

But now, here before her very eyes, was the very model of a Republic commander, filling his spotless uniform so sharply.  The presence of so many others of his kind, here in the middle of the fleet, as well as the top commanders, had apparently finally been enough to get him to change his ways.

And she found a small part of herself mourning the change.

Sensing her attention, Carth glanced at her with an inquiring look on his face.

“Just thinking of _Endar Spire_ ,” she replied to his silent question.

“It seems like forever ago, now,” he said in reply.

“Correction: According to my records, it was a mere three standard months ago,” HK-47 interjected from her other side.  “To call it anything more than that is ludicrous exaggeration of the highest degree, though I should have come to expect such behavior from you organics.  The lack of a built-in real-time clock, which even the most archaic and outdated of droids possesses, is yet again another objective indication of how inferior you so-called sentients are.”

As Carth rolled his eyes, Bastila turned to face the droid.  He was glaring at the two of them with his usual ill-disguised disgust.

After what had happened in the mess only a few hours ago, she could in no good conscious keep the droid away from her side now.  She even supposed that it might prove better for all involved that he stay within her sight so she could keep the inevitable damage to a minimum.

_Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.  Perhaps this was all an elaborate tease on Enosh’s part.  I never could tell, at times._

But it was only with the warmth of reminiscence, not embarrassment, that she thought these last thoughts.

“You’re not still bothered by the personal assistance droid, are you?” she asked.

If a droid could have sneered, HK-47 certainly would have done so right then and there.  Instead, his eyes seemed to burn an even brighter shade of red.  “Rebuttal:  To call myself affected in any way, to even suggest I have wasted any processing cycles empathizing with that subservient waste of scrap metal and logic circuits would be laughable if it wasn’t so insulting.”

“Still, it must be nice to have some company, to replace T3-M4,” she continued, obliquely innocent to his words.

“Rejoinder,” HK-47 replied curtly, his vocabulator thrumming angrily.  “I do not know which I find more offensive: that you would even presume to group a highly skilled, irreplaceable droid such as myself with such a pedestrian piece of servility and dullness, or that you would imply that I maintained anything beyond the most basic and infrequent of communication with that barely ambulatory collection of spare parts and miswired circuitry that is T3-M4.  If your intelligence was not so low, I would surmise that you were purposefully goading me; as it is, I can only pity you your faulty deductive capabilities.”

There came a covered cough from Carth; she glanced at him and saw his eyes smiling.

Something crossed her mind then, and she felt embarrassed to have forgotten it for so long.  _Or surpressed?_

“What happened at that hearing?  With Midshipman Warris?” she asked him.

His eyes softened.  “She was calm.  I think she’s starting to feel regrets over what happened.”

Her mood lightened slightly at his words.  _Or are you just trying to make me feel better?_

At that moment, the gentle acceleration of the turbolift that had been pressing them slightly into the floor began to lessen.

“Almost there,” Carth observed.  He glanced at her.  “Nervous?”

“Not really,” she replied, and to her surprise she truly meant it.  The misgivings she’d initially felt, the concerns she’d voiced with Dodonna, had faded as the impending clash about Korriban had neared.  As the prospect of action approached, things grew sharply defined and clearer within her mind, as they always seemed to.  Endless thoughts, second-guesses of both the past and the future, released their hold upon her, receding before the sharp needs of survival in the immediate present.

It was the difference between a gloomy council meeting, Masters discussing matters of Galactic import at a leisurely pace and with copious asides and diversions in the middle of the warm Dantooine night, and the hissing point of a lightsaber staring her straight in the eyes.

* * *

The turbolift came to a soft stop, the doors opening swiftly to reveal the hustle and bustle of a battlecruiser bridge preparing for battle.

The trio stepped forward onto the bridge.  Her eyes scanned the quiet chaos.  Officers and crew moved with quiet determination around the bridge, their attentions focused on the task at hand.  For the time being they stood in a quiet island within the flood, but she knew that would not last long.

She spotted Admiral Dodonna standing over a table at the far side, her flag captain at her side, as they studied the ghostly image within a holoprojector intently.

Dodonna looked up at that moment, almost as if aware of the attention.  Her eyes caught Bastila’s from across the room.

Echoes whispered in her mind, fingers of trepidation brushing against her shoulder.  Their frank conversation was still vivid in her memories.

Dodonna nodded briefly, then returned back to her flag captain.

Movement at her side brought her attention.  She turned to see Carth conversing quietly with another officer.

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he said to the other man as he walked away, their brief conversation ended.  “This way,” he said to her, gesturing toward an empty console station off to the side.

She fell in line behind him, with HK-47 trailing, as they made their way through the room.  With Carth in the lead, nodding to various officers and trading brief words, and HK-47 behind to draw puzzled glances, she basked in the relative anonymity.

“Here you go,” Carth announced as they arrived, pulling out the seat from beneath the console desk for her.

She nodded her appreciation to him as she sat.  Displays blazed to life before her.  Someone had obviously done their preparation work, as she immediately noted that her personal preferences were already loaded and ready to go.  Four screens surrounded her, already set to her favorite tactical and strategic displays.  A few keystrokes quickly cycled through other displays and information panels, in a well-remembered dance of graphics and light.  It was still awkward, using only her left hand to move across the console, but already she felt herself adapting.  The streams of data fluidly updating before her eyes immediately cried for her attention.  Status reports from the fleet ships, estimated time of arrival countdown prominently displayed, latest threat probabilities from intelligence…

“I think I’ll be saying my goodbyes now,” Carth said, interrupting.  He looked at HK-47.  “Should I get rid of something else as well?” he asked obliquely.

“Comment:  your patronizing is as ill-guided as it is misplaced.  To even surmise that you have the ability to remove me from a location without my permission is laughable.”

“Better here than wandering around somewhere else,” Bastila added with a shrug.

“Objection: to maintain an air of supervision toward me is to completely misunderstand this relationship.”

She ignored him; more and more she found it quite a useful attitude to maintain.  _Would that I had learned this earlier…_   “Good luck, Commander,” she said instead to Carth.

His eyes widened slightly at the honorific.  “The same to you, Commander,” he said, smiling as he saluted her serious demeanor.

Ignoring HK-47 as the droid settled into a spot just behind her right shoulder, she focused back onto the screens before her.  Their quiet whisperings soon grabbed her complete attention, as they fed information into her.

Time passed quickly, as she lost herself in the sterile calculus of battle.  Formations gradually congealed out of the seeming chaos of the formation, as threat probabilities vacilitated and commanders’ plans firmed.

A light started flashing, indicating their imminent exit from hyperspace.  The quiet, strident conversations quickly ceased, as the tense calm of anxious determination took hold among all.  Given the battle about the Star Forge, the Sith ships seen and not seen there, she knew as well as the others that the odds should be in their favor, especially given this surprise arrival to Korriban.  But war was full of surprises; she herself had faced long odds in battle so often before that she didn’t dare to relax now that the numbers appeared to be on their side.

She reached out tentatively with the Force, and could feel the entire ship appear to hold its breath in anticipation of the next few moments.

She stared at a timer at the corner of a screen.  5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

The blank grayness of the main screen in front of her resolved quickly to show three blinking red dots.

“Three cruisers!” someone yelled, as threat identification sensors pinned those red dots with spinning status indicators.

She glanced over the text which flowed across her screen and breathed a sigh of relief as the words confirmed that first, quick observation.  Threat assessment and intelligence had done their work well; the numbers and tonnage were heavily in their favor.

“Indications from Korriban are that atmospheric disturbances similar to low-level orbital bombardment have taken place,” she heard someone else say quickly.

_Low-level orbital bombardment.  So the war to succeed Darth Malak has already begun._   Despite her distaste, she found herself wondering what had happened to the various abhorrent factions and personalities she’d learned about during her brief time under Darth Malak’s sway.  _It must be utter chaos down there, and all throughout Sith space, with each Apprentice eagerly eyeing his or her Master’s back, each Master probing for vulnerabilities amongst his or her fellows._

“Full ahead!” Dodonna barked aloud, and Bastila nearly jumped in surprise at her nearness.  She’d been absorbed in her screens during their final approach, during which the Admiral had apparently made her way over to her side, standing next to HK-47.

“Aye-aye, sir!”

Bursts of communication traffic erupted all over the comm net as the Republic fleet quickly formed up, tearing down the gravity well toward Korriban and the enemy ships.

She felt Dodonna lay a hand on her left shoulder.  “You know what to do, Shan,” the Admiral said quietly.

“Yes, Admiral,” she repiled.  If this had been a conventional encounter, the numbers alone would heavily favor the Republic.  But in war, there was never such a thing as having too much of an advantage.

Closing her eyes, she willed the noises of the bridge, of the ship, into the background, and flung her senses out deep into space, into the vicinity of Korriban.

As always, that first transition was jarring.  To leave the comparatively small confines of her body, the limitations of her physical sensations and perceptions, and to sense, even if in only nebulous form, the vastness surrounding them, the thousands of lives sparkling quietly about her, was always breathtaking.

_And powerfully intoxicating, and alluring, if truth be told_.  When her unusual talent had first emerged, she’d read up on some of the ancient Jedi who’d also shared in the experience, seeking wisdom in their past experiences.  All had commented on how wondrous it had felt, that sudden expansion of perception, that enlarging of sense.  Rumor had it that some had been so attracted that they had eventually left their own bodies behind, to lose themselves within the Galaxy forever more, adrift in the tides of the stars.

_Focus.  I need to focus._

She gathered her senses and focused on the comparatively small space about Korriban.

Immediately, she sensed the Sith.  They were too numerous and the sensations too nebulous to distinguish individuals, but as a whole their petty rivalries, their small-minded vindictiveness, and their selfish ambitions were easily recognizable, a familiar, repugnant taste to her mind.

And there was an undercurrent of surprise and fear coursing through those minds, at the sudden appearance of the Republic battle group from an unexpected quarter.  She winnowed that thread out from amongst the other sensations, and amplified it, reinforced it.

Her heart started to beat faster, as she shrouded herself within them.  She projected nervousness, anxiety, uncertainty.  Her breathing became shallower, and faster.  She felt beads of sweat start running down her forehead.  Her hearing suddenly became stuffed.  Her eyes were tired.  She never had enough sleep.  Things that had come so easily before, through constant practice and discipline, were suddenly forgotten.  Mental pauses interrupted what should have been nearly-automatic behaviors, as Sith scurried about their ships, stumbling to their battle stations, fumbling at weapons, at screens, at comms.

Leaving that sensation hovering near the cruisers and orbital defenses of Korriban, she swiftly returned her attention to the Republic fleet.  Confidence flowed within her.  Her eyes were sharp, her mind well-rested.  Things were almost painfully clear, connections and conclusions seemed to flow so naturally, so easily, so rapidly, from the deluge of information flowing from the battle computers.  Ship captains knew instinctively what each other were going to do, and synchronized maneuvers perfectly, with only a minimum of comm required.

A sudden burst of confusion came from the Sith cruisers.  She sensed one cruiser had accidentally crossed into the path of another, sending both cruisers to lurching halts from their projected trajectories.  Precious time was lost as the two ships tried to dance around each other, their captains no doubt cursing each other’s clumsiness.

She concentrated on those ships.  She was dizzy and confused.  Anger and frustration laced her thoughts.  Panic started to set in, insidiously, as the precious seconds slid by and the incoming vectors of the Republic ships approached.  The window to escape was closing rapidly, rapidly, and that was leading to mistakes as awareness of it set in.

Eyes turned to screens, to the approaching dots of the Republic fleet.  Anticipation set in for that first burst of blaster fire, that first wave of fighter craft.  She knew she shouldn’t waste time to look, but she did anyway, in trepidation.

Almost simultaneously, blaster fire erupted from both sides as the Republic fleet closed within striking distance.

The two Sith cruisers, still desperately trying to clear one another, withered under the heavy Republic fire.  Explosions blossomed as hastily thrown up screens took up the blaster fire.  Bastila stoked the fires of panic, of helpless despair.

As if from a distance, she felt the faint rumblings of the _Fury_ ’s shields as Sith fire fell upon her.

The strained Sith shields failed abruptly.  Two blinding explosions erupted, ripping the fragile hulls apart.  Within the blink of an eye, the cruisers were lifeless hulks, twisting wildly as Korriban’s tenacious, unforgiving gravity grabbed hold, to pull them both down to a fiery demise.

The last cruiser was pulling free of Korriban’s gravity well, trying to build up acceleration.  Only a smattering of defensive fire emerged from it, while its shields shook under the thunder of the Republic’s refocused barrage.

Its shields failed near the engine, and a massive barrage of blaster fire destroyed the cruiser’s main engines.

As it sputtered to a halt, the comm channels suddenly lit up with traffic from the cruiser.  The captain had seen the inevitable, and had surrendered, rather than face the fate that had befallen the other two ships.

Somebody was shaking Bastila’s good shoulder, and the effect tore her out of her trance.

She reeled as an enormous viewpoint that had once contained light-seconds of space abruptly compressed itself.  And along with the sudden transition came the wave of debilitating weakness that always followed her trances, that always left her as weak as a newborn.

“Good job, Shan,” she heard the Admiral say, from what seemed like light years away, as she struggled to reorient herself, to fight through the waves of weakness that seemed to weigh down upon her, pinning her to her chair.

She turned her weary eyes, saw the happy smiles around her, the congratulations being passed back and forth.  Dodonna stood before her then, a grim smile upon her lips.  Even in her weakened state, she could sense that a terrible weight had been lifted from the Admiral’s shoulders.

She closed her eyes, and nodded.

* * *

Just as Bastila fell wearily onto the bed, the room comm buzzed.

She toyed with the idea of indulging herself in her need for rest and ignoring the comm, but the habit of responsibility had been too well ground into her by long years of training to ignore.  She lifted herself slowly out of bed and over to the comm panel on the desk.

Sensing her arrival, the display came to life, showing Carth.

“What is it, Carth?” she asked, trying to hide the weariness from her voice.

She failed.  “Sorry for the interruption, Bastila, but we need you down in the hangar bay.”

_Hangar bay?_   “Is it Juhani?” she asked, suddenly fearful.  After the battle, Juhani had gone with a boarding party to the Sith cruiser, to help with the prisoners.  She’d offered her own services as well, but the Cathar had urged her instead to recuperate from her exertions.

“Don’t worry; she’s okay,” Carth said quickly, easily sensing her concern.  “The boarding party is on its way back with the prisoners.  But they have a Sith among the prisoners as well.  Reports are that she’s been cooperative, but we need you down there when they arrive… just in case.”

_Just in case?_   She wanted to laugh, to think that in her current state, she could stop anyone from…

Her heart skipped a beat, and suddenly she was awake.  _She?  Surely, it couldn’t be her!_

“Yes, I’ll be down as fast as I can.”

 


End file.
